


Mithril of Moria

by dawnlight



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Dwarves and Orcs share Moria, F/M, Orc Culture, Politics, Reclaimed Moria, Rule 63, School Life, Size Difference, Smauglock, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnlight/pseuds/dawnlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up till this very second, Bilbo still thought that Hobbits weren’t supposed to live as nomads and travel from nation to nation in search of their ambition. They’re a very peaceful race doing domestic jobs and living better for having nothing unexpected ever happen to them. Yet here she is, standing under the archway into a classroom, so far the tiniest kid attending the sixth grade of Moria Interspecies Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Colorless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beta read by snarkmaster94 ~ can't thank u enough!!!

 

Up till this very second, Bilbo still thought that Hobbits weren’t supposed to live as nomads and travel from nation to nation in search of their ambition. They’re a very peaceful race doing domestic jobs and living better for having nothing unexpected ever happen to them. Yet here she is, standing under the archway into a classroom, so far the tiniest kid attending the sixth grade of Moria Interspecies Academy. Her Mum is an archaeologist who was asked to help in restoring ‘classified’ Dwarven Ancient Scribes –Belladonna is the only one who isn’t an Elf- while Bilbo’s Dad, Bungo, is a tinkerer, physician, builder, whatever; he has so many skills and finds it so easy to adapt in every realm, Bilbo has lost count of what exactly Bungo does for a living.  

She returns her attention to the class, sweeping her gaze over the students mournfully. Seats were arranged in such a way that they split the class in half, with a small portion of Dwarflings occupying the right side and the group of newborn Orcs, Trolls and some young Goblins occupied the left side. She sighs as she enters the room; she’d already been, attending the school for six months and felt trapped in this mixed curriculum –which only taught general knowledge like Westron, Geography, History and Basic Calculus- since she was forbidden from taking the Dwarves Special Curriculum and not really willing to join the Orc’s Technology Club.

 

“Morning, Bilbo.” Ori waves at her happily and offers her a seat with the dwarves. But she knows not to blend with them after her mistake on the first day, which led to her constantly getting glares and scowls from the rest of dwarves for months just because Ori is the only girl in the group and trying to be nice to Bilbo. She gives the ginger haired dam a bashful smile, before she takes a lone desk in the middle of class. The seat always  catches the but she’s  learnt to brace herself and face the lesson without the protection or support of a kinship.

“We have a new student.” Their teacher announced with a flat expression and Bilbo waits to see which side will shout in triumph seeing as she’s currently stuck between Team Dwarves with their loud pride and Team Evils with their easy-to-please nature. “He’s designed to be an important figure, “  _ An Orc then _ , Bilbo muttered under her breath and resigned to be ready for another drooling idiot with a clueless look, “He’ll be here after lunch because the wound from his initiation ceremony will take awhile to heal.” And then the teacher moves on with their Westron lesson.

 

As to be expected, without any special curriculum her school life is very bland and boring. After Westron she is free till lunch break, so the blond haired hobbit stuffs her books into her locker and then broods in the hall, since the library is restricted to only dwarves –after some Goblins borrowed books to add to their bonfire party – and the Orc’s club is dangerous to enter without proper armor and a helmet.

She decides to take a nap in the infirmary all the while wondering why her parents won’t send her to Rivendell instead where she can learn languages and literature with no restrictions. Is it because the school hovers near dangerous cliffs? Hobbits do fear high places. . .

“Hello?” She peeks into the curtained area, and is startled to find someone so huge and pale sitting on the stone floor. In the dimness of the candle’s light, she can see black blood flowing down the shark-like face and covering both arms in tribal designs. i The next second sees her  already in the room, kneeling in front of the figure, “Are you okay?” she asks, unsure whether this person is a too big -and colorless- Orc or a too small Troll. “Where’s the nurse? Have you gotten treatment?” she asks again, her eyes now staring into the depths of an icy blue pair as her mind kept digging for knowledge about Orcs –she decided he’s an Orc for the time being- she had learnt so far, and she  continues to speak, “Hmm, there’s special concoction for Orcs, what was  the name again but I’m sure the nurse kept some here, just in case.”

“Flame Ale.” The voice is heavy and guttural, yet there’s a small smile in the corner of his scarred mouth which  _ strangely _ turns her face into blossoming red and makes her heart thrum with arushing beat. She stares at him in daze as he raises a water skin to show her,  **“I’ve already been treated. Thess are  all ceremonial marks I have to bear and they have stopped bleeding already.”**

Bilbo frowns, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand Black Speech.” She whispers in regret. “But if you don’t mind, I can help with cleaning your wound.”

 

**.   .   .   .   .   .**

 

Azog nods slightly.

He watches the little being slowly kneel in front of him, talking while gesturing , asking to help him in cleaning the blood from his scars. He notices it when the end of her skirt brushes slightly on his bare thighs, blooming around her like a pumpkin then deflating to hover around her slim waist. He sees adolescent purity in her two layered dress, he smells the fragrance of sun and grass from her sweat -he remembers the scent from his first hunt last night, a deer so fast and jumpy, with a pair of doe eyes and a thoughtful look. He adored the creature for a moment, before he ripped it’s flesh apart mercilessly and drank its blood as part of ritual.

Now he sees  prey in the form of this strange creature.  _ What a beautiful stranger _ , with hair shining like gold and tanned skin flawless like honey, not the only upgrades to the definition of beauty in his child-like mind but it gave him the words to appreciate rather than thirst to break her from perfection. He considers this for awhile, as his eyes trail  the veins in her very small neck, so fragile and easily crushed  between his palms. He can hear her blood flow, sense her nervousness and erratic heartbeat. He almost smiles, almost wants to tease her and bully her until she cries and runs from him, scarred for life. But as their gazes meet, his own chest tightens with invisible rope, dumbstruck to the point of only being able to watch those pair of green orbs stay calm and, if he’s not mistaken, radiate with  _ fondness for him. _

 

What in him  doesn’t scare her off to death?

 

“What?” No use in asking  himself when he can confront her.

“Nothing.” She averts her gaze and continues fussing at his already cleaned wound. “Just wondering, I’ve never seen a Pale Orc before, and one as huge as you.”

**“What do you know about Orcs anyway…”** Azog asks with a mocking snort. She doesn’t understand his language, and he doesn’t care to explain in Westron. To tell the truth, he was born with the ability to understand many languages, mostly ancient dialects, except Khuzdul. Not that he cares to learn in the first place.

“Azog.” He tells her, introducing himself in the simplest way.

Realization dawns on her and she gives him a hand, “Bilbo Baggins. So, are you a new nurse or the new student? I can’t really tell with Orcs since you’re all re-created as adults.” When he only stares at her gesture, she immediately tugs his right palm and demonstrates a handshake. He’s more fascinated in their size difference. Even as she releases his hand, Azog grabs her wrist between a thumb and  finger and places her palm on his in measurement. She squeals at what he’d done, “Wow.”

 

“What are you?” Azog hates to converse in Westron, but he’d  do it as a favor to her.

“A Hobbit.” She exclaimed happily, “So, are you the new student or not? Why are you so huge? The regular Orcs in my class are slightly taller than dwarves and shorter than Men. They’re also less um…structured in everything. Some have mismatched eyes or a hog nose, not that I’d say they’re ugly but…” she glances at him and sees the sparks of amusement in his gaze.

“We’re ugly, yes.” Azog quirks a small smile, “But what one lack in the appearance is paid in strength.” And he chuckles at the way her face steams in embarrassing red. It’s so alluring that he absently runs his knuckle over her chubby cheek as he continues, “I’ve been tasked to be their Leader so I know they’re fierce warriors once they’re in their armor. I don’t need a pretty face to attend battle, we’re not elves.”

Bilbo flinches at the touch, but not really drawing apart from him, “so… you’re a Commander?”

_ A King _ , to be exact, but again he doesn’t bother to explain. “Just a new student.” He answers sarcastically enough to gain a displeased pout from her . He encourages the little being to sit on his lap and not on the cold stone because he wants to converse  with her more. He begins by telling her of his first night waking up on the cold altar of Dol Guldur. Master said Azog had been chosen since the First Age and had been tucked away hidden in the bog for centuries until yesterday. “It’s about time, Master says.” Azog mutters, eyes staring at the far wall in deep thought, “Either He talks about Winter Feast or it’s the end of the world, I can’t say much from His shady appearance.”

Bilbo laughs, thinking it as joke.

 

“What do you think?” Azog stares at her intensely.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs optimistically, “and what I don’t know won’t hurt me, or so I heard.”

To hear the word ‘hurt’ escape her lips turns his mood sour and his stomach pulsates in turmoil. He growls softly at her and she answers it with a clueless smile. Azog simply can’t bear to wonder on the possibility of someone as soft and fragile as Bilbo getting hurt. Strangely, he cares for her in a way Orcs don’t. He is aware of what he is made of and what he’ll become, and she’ll definitely get hurt from being involved in his life, but it troubles him to send her away. Just thinking about it squeezes his soulless heart with rage.

“Not knowing will only make you senseless to danger.” Azog muttered gruffly, “stay within my sight, I’ll watch your back.” He doesn’t even know what he offers to her but it is something that made her round eyes widen and her face fill with excitement.

“W-wait…” she stammers, “watch my back… as my friend?” she asks curiously yet cautiously as if any wrong answer will shatter whatever scheme she had in  mind. “You want to be my friend? Really?”

“Whatever suits you.” Azog replies grumpily, thinking she’s being dramatic but everyone with a soul apparently allows some amount of drama in their life. So he respects it –that’s also unlike an Orc- by leaning down and pressing his lipless mouth to her forehead in a chaste kiss, “Just be near.”

She is covering in feverish red again and he stares in worry, wondering if getting contact with Orcs hurt her somewhere but then she smiles, wide and wider until she grins and then giggles in happiness, Azog decides she’s also a queer creature for ridiculously feeling content to befriend an Orc or moving to cling onto his neck in a childish hug, like what she does to him right now. In appreciation, Azog brushes her back while trying not to get overwhelmed with this fluffy radiance around them, and risk breaking her backbone in the process. That’ll cause a war with pretty much everyone.

“Nobody’s asked to be my friend before.” She tells him with relief in her tone and for her sake, Azog suddenly wants to rip everyone’s heart out and hang them as wind chimes on the terrace of each class since nobody seemed to appreciate  the potential of a heart and the benefit of a soul to their being anyway.

“You only befriend those who deserve you.” Azog says under his breath, “but it’ll be better if you start spilling names.”

Bilbo laughs airily. “And you’re going to do what? Bully everyone? Nobody’ll hurt me, you worry-wart.” She gets up and pats down the front of her skirt, “Anyway, since you’re new, would you like a tour of the school?” she gives him a hand as if she has the strength to pull him up and for his enjoyment, he twines  his big fingers around her tiny ones and watches as she dramatically tries to pull him up.

“You need to learn Black Speech.” Azog finally stands and trails behind Bilbo as they walk out the infirmary,  **“I hate Westron.”**

 

**.   .   .   .   .   .**

 

Bilbo doesn’t know what it means to befriend an Orc, and to the future leader of them at that. It is only when she returns to the class and everyone stops chattering with their group and stares at her with horror -specifically where Azog is hovering- that Bilbo realizes other people are terrified by the territorial and menacing look of Azog and how he contently stalks her into the class. Even as she passes Ori’s table, the usual chatty dam flinches and turns pale while the rest of dwarflings look like they’re ready to bolt from their chairs and run for their life.

Bilbo sighs.

She takes her usual seat while wondering about her choices, again. She is happy to have a new friend and Azog is nice to her, it should be enough, right?

Another desk appears next to her, and she finds Azog seated –more like slouching- while staring at her book as if it offends him. Amused, Bilbo whispers coyly in question if he can read –Azog can enter pre-school with baby goblins and baby dwarves, since he’s counted as babe himself- and she earns a very soft flick in between her eyes.

Some of Orcs glance at her. Ori cringes.

**“By Morgoth, shut up or I’ll violate your tongue.”**

Bilbo snorts, “I don’t understand what are you talking about, big baby, therefore I don’t care.”

Thankfully, the brisk appearance of their calculus teacher diverts Azog attention from her and she waits with a sheepish smile till she hears him muttering in guttural fascination, “is there bird dropping on his hair?” the Pale Orc nudged theside of her head with his mouth, ignoring the more intense glances from every direction in the class.

Bilbo feels her stomach gets cramp from mixed emotions. She doesn’t mind him breaching her personal space, only it felt scandalous to be this close in public.

For now she shrugs away her worry and leans into his side, “Yep. It’s also a bird nest, but let’s not point it out. Gandalf says it’ll hurt Radagast’s feelings.”

“Who’s Gandalf?”

“The History teacher.” She smiles fondly, yet it irritates Azog so much  –for unknown reasons- that the Pale Orc grasps her cheeks with two fingers and makes a blowfish face on hers until Bilbo whines in protests, “stop it!”

**“Ridiculous creature.”** Azog returns his attention to their eccentric teacher.

“Brute.” Bilbo grumbled while checking her stinging cheeks for bruises with her heart marching in anxiety. Even the ignorant Radagast observes their interaction with interest,  which causes Bilbo to gulp and think over and again if it’s indeed a right thing to befriend an Orc.

 

*

 


	2. Blood Agreement

 

For the next three months Azog lives in the  infirmary due to the constant ceremonial marking done by reopening his wound and carving them deeper, inch by inch. It looks like  torture, to Bilbo rushing in, in the morning just to find him sitting with a blood stained face and arms. Without a sound, she moves around to help him wiping the fresh scar with antiseptic, applying healing salve –when Healer Oin is around, the dwarf scolds her for being too kind, because marking is something common within Orcs and Dwarves and it’ll heal with or without tending. Sometimes, Bilbo is so very curious as to the exact purpose of decorating his body with scars but doesn’t ask because it seems rude to confront him for the extreme custom. So, she takes his suggestion and spends her time with him learning Black Speech, just because he prefers to talk in his native tongue and she wants to understand any low spats or grumbles from him, especially if he’s mocking her.

 

“Is this necessary?” At the end of December when the snow hits the mountain and the Orcs are getting ready for their Great Winter Festival at Dol Guldur, Bilbo finally snaps when she sees more cuts are decorating his pale skin, including three deep claw marks slashing diagonally across his pectorals. “Just tell me, what exactly are you doing every night?”

**“I told you these are all ceremonial stuff.”** He replies with a chuckle, not even showing pain when she dabs with a cloth dipped in antiseptic to clean the gash. **“I’ve responsibilities as leader and one of them is getting alliances with other packs.”** He doesn’t tell her it requires dueling with the pack leaders to prove his capability since a King must be the strongest and mightiest Orc amongst his folk.

“Then what are these?” Bilbo points at the claws, “Are you having quarrels with a bear?”

Funny to know she guessed it right.  **“That’s a greeting from** Master Beorn.” He says casually **. “And a warning to not trespass into his land again. Let’s say I got a bit carried away and went too far from our usual hunting ground.”** Then Azog tells her about his first meeting with the shape-shifter, which immediately diverts Bilbo’s attention from getting upset about his wounds. She listens to his tale in astonishment while in her head, she imagines how  Master Beorn actually looks alike.

“It’s unfair.” Bilbo pouts then, “Dad says I’m too young to go on night walks.”

**“You’ll be too sleepy for that, anyway.”** Azog turns and caresses her face reassuringly. She blushes at the comforting gesture and averts her attention back to his wound since her heart felt like leaping out of her throat and she doesn’t know how to stop that.

**.   .   .   .   .   .**

 

After school, there’s an Orc Commander introduced as Iguk who awaits her at the Academy’s front gate. Nervously she follows Iguk into the reception room of Orc’s club, where she is asked to take a seat and treated with a bowl of chocolates. Iguk grumpily sits across her, his bat-like face scrunched in displease, but she takes no offense after she knows Orc’s harshness in their language and gestures are only  part of their nature and has no actual bite behind it.

“Why am I here?” She asks.

Iguk stares at her with disdain. She tries not to get offended by that but it does make her fidget uncomfortably on the black stone chair.

**“We’ve been monitoring you.”** Iguk began with a hiss and spat.  **“I heard from Healer Oin, you’ve been nurturing Azog for his wound.”** Bilbo’s eyes widened, of all things she could imagine, she can’t believe this is the one that will cause her trouble. Iguk seems to understand the increase of insecurity in her and continues,  **“the fact that you understand my speech also interests me, little one.”** His voice changed into a low growl and Bilbo just knows the Orc is trying to soothe her,  **“tell me, what is your value to him?”**

Bilbo tensed and suddenly her eyes glowered with defensive rage, “What do you mean? We’re friends. Anyone can see that and last time I checked there’s no rule forbidding me from befriending an Orc, so I don’t get why it should be a problem.”

“Friend….” Iguk mutters the word in westron, startling Bilbo, “ **There’s no word of ‘** Friend’ **in our language, because no such thing exists between our kin. It’s either enemy or ally** .” Iguk gives her a sinister smirk, “So what are you to Azog, Bilbo Baggins? His enemy, or his ally?”

“I’m his friend.” Bilbo finally snaps, “If I can’t be one, then just tell me that no need to be so dramatic about it.”

Iguk watches her with thoughtful gaze,  **“He didn’t tell you then.”** the Commander grumbled irritatingly,  **“Azog the Defiler is about to be the King of Gundabad Orcs, the greatest Orc’s Clan in Middle Earth. On the behalf of his Council, I’ve been sent to investigate your motive in getting close to him, either it was purely sexual or there’s politics behind it.”**

“He what?” Bilbo suddenly feels numb. “Wait, what do you mean purely sexual? We’re still in sixth grade!”  _ And Azog is a newborn! _ She screams mentally, as the panic in her system began to show through cold sweat, because she realizes, she’d casually befriended  a King and has often spoken informally –even scolded Azog as a big baby. She dreads as she recalls a few occasions at her house, when she invited Azog for afternoon tea with her parents and she often bullied him into washing dishes with her.

**“Within our race, there’s no such thing as age-consent or morality.”**

_ That’s not helping.  _ Bilbo glares.

“So what do you want me to do?” She slumps back into her chair, suddenly feeling so exhausted. “Stay away? Yes I will. I think he’ll get bored of me anyway, when he’s already a King and will become the center of attention.” Suddenly, her rage focused on Azog since the bedamned Orc was the one who forgot to mention r the importance of his sorry arse to his society.

**“That’s up to Azog.”** Iguk answers coldly, and Bilbo is too hurt to not get offended.  **“I’m sent to confirm your value to him, not to execute anything upon you. You’re not an Orc, our law doesn’t involve you. So answer me, little one, enemy or ally?”**

“Why don’t you let Azog decide it too. It saves us from wasting time.” She gets up and excuses herself out the club. She can feel Iguk’s gaze sat heavily on her back but she only quickens her pace, ignoring the infirmary as she passes by it and starts running out of the Academy, until she arrives at the Great Road, a demilitarized area between Dwarven City and Orc’s Realm. She stalks across the narrow bridge, before she heads up and up the steep stairs until she arrives at Inspection Hall. She slips through the crowds of visitors and merchants trying to get their pass into Moria. They’re either Warg Riders who have come to celebrate Winter Festival, dwarves and men merchants, Rangers, or a transit of Goblins who are on their way visiting their relatives in Goblin Town.

 

She walks out the Dimrill Gate and immediately hugs herself when the chill of winter surrounds her but it is just what she needs, apparently. She stands on a low stone hedge on the terrace of the gate, and stays unmoving except for breathing harshly and staring down at the slopes beneath her; it used to be rocky with soft grass filling every open space, a perfect place to sit and bask under the sun for all day, but  everything is now covered in snow.

“You’re a King.”

She whispers it hoarsely when she hears heavy steps approaching. Azog halts and she turns to him with a knowing look. She always knows when he’s near. She remembers the rhythm of his step despite him wearing leather sandals, not his hide boots. She can feel his intense gaze and eternal frown from a distance, though she’s startled to find him dressed boldly in leather pants, no decorative furs and leather belt around, only a pair of very provocative and tight fitted shorts.  _ If he catches a cold, I’m going to make him miserable throughout healing. _

**“It didn’t matter to you before.”** Azog takes a seat next to her standing figure and lookss at her at eye-level,  **“Just ignore it then.”**

“Well, I can’t choose when the option is only enemy or ally. To tell the truth, I think an enemy can turn into ally with benefits, and an ally can turn into foe if the agreement is broken.” Bilbo purses her lips, “but friendship… it’s a selective process by  heart. It doesn’t require any benefit, just simply two people sharing their free time together.”

“Why is it  a problem to befriend you?” She asks Azog.

Azog raises a hand and pats her curly hair gently,  **“It’s not.”** He answers reassuringly, “ **For others, Orcs are the worst race on Middle Earth, however, even without souls we aren’t mindless. The Council where Iguk serves has a duty to watch over my well being and they are simply curious about you. If possible, they may also want to secure your place within my clan.”**

“Like a royal friend?” She sneers at him, “because I swear if you give me a royal title such as ‘Sweetpea’ or ‘Babydoll’ I’ll bite your arm off.” Her threat falls on deaf ears, of course, as Azog only sweeps her into his arms and seats her on his lap even as she hisses, “I’m serious! Hobbits are  creatures of comfort and we don’t appreciate living under the spotlight.”

Azog barks into a loud cackle and Bilbo tucks her face into his broad chest, grudgingly cursing him under her breath and blaming him for being so irresistibly warm and inviting. He snuggles her in return, burying his face at the top of her hair and inhaling her scent as much as he could.

 

“Then,” He whispers, “let’s make it official with a blood-pledge.”

 

“What?” Bilbo sends up a confused look.

 

“This friendship.” Azog releases her from the hug and takes her left palm as he begins explaining,  **“Orcs are really fond of blood so we settle our trade and alliance with blood-pledges. Between warriors, it becomes a symbol of trust, indicating awareness and loyalty to their comrades. Its mostly used for battle, but I guess it’s the closest thing to convince my kin of your value.”**

“Wow, that’s intense.” Bilbo blinks, “how does it work, then? Wait, whatever it is I hope you don’t put it on my face.” And when Azog gives her an amused look she glares back in return, “no you don’t. I love my face and I love it better unscathed.”

**“It won’t be on the face. Imagine how awkward it’ll be if warriors had to rub their cheeks together to perform the blood-exchange.”**

“Aww, that is so sweet…” Bilbo giggles mockingly and earns a pinch on her cheek from Azog. “Really, if not on the face, then where?” she asks curiously. Azog takes her palm and traces an X symbol on it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Bilbo nods in understanding, “Will Commander Iguk leaves me alone then?”

A nasty smile appears on the Orc’s face **. “That depends.”** Azog shrugs **. “Iguk is weak with cute little things. If later he starts gifting you chocolates, don’t forget to share.”** When Bilbo expresses her disagreement with another pout, Azog’s wide smile turns into a sadistic grin.

“You’re such a baby.” Bilbo sneers, as she watches Azog caress her small palm, before he digs a shallow cut with the tip of his nail. Bilbo whines softly at the dull pain, but he soothes her with an incoherent murmur in his native tongue as he opens her skin. Immediately, he repeats the same action -with a pocket blade- to his own and turns to Bilbo who looks on  wide-eyed as the oozing black blood covers his palm. “Wait, don’t you think yours is too deep?” she asks in worry.

Yet Azog ignores her question and grasps her palm. It makes Bilbo yelp asa scorching pain hits her and when she looks up at him, he groans in response because he believes it’s not supposed to feel so achingly…  _ blissful _ , it encourages him to maneuver her with his free hand and press her lips into a chaste kiss, long enough to make their joined palms entwine, so different in size, before the smell of their mixed blood snaps Azog from the trance and he stares at her in disbelief, “ **What…** ” he breathes, voice rough and his face bewildered, “ **What was that?** ” he asks Bilbo.

Bilbo wears the same startled look, “How am I supposed to know?” and she realizes he’s still dripping with blood, “Good gracious!” and slowly, but reluctantly, their blood bond has to be untied as Bilbo gathers some snow nearby and buries his palm with it. “How could you cut yourself so-…” her scolding  halts at the sight of Azog rubbing his lipless mouth with his fingertips. There’s a flutter of  _ something _ in her heart to see him so thoughtful and emotional, its as if his orc physique is merely a façade to something with not only a heart and mind but also hosting a soul. She wonders if he was created different by his Master, but then she has a more urgent matter to deal with. In a flash, she returns to checking on his wound and then wipes them with her handkerchief when the snow finally stops the blood.

 

She is unaware he watches her as if she’s awakened something in him and somehow changed the entire purpose of his existence.

 

**“Let me see.”** She only startles when he grasps her stained hand -now shivering from gathering snow- before he licks the surface, shocking her with an electric jolt with the way his wet and very warm tongue brushes on her cold skin. She shudders nervously through the cleaning, until there’s only a thin black scar left on her.

“Wow.” She admits, tries to smile but ends up grimacing, “this is really…”

“ **Wrong.** ” Azog answers for her.

“Overwhelming.” She corrects him. “but it’s not wrong.”

 

There, Azog gives her  _ that _ look again, before he throws his gaze at the winter sky. He gives no retort and only drowns in silence. She respects it by not badgering him with nonsense talk and lets the awkwardness of the moment slip away by itself.

**“I don’t understand.”** He finally speaks, “ **It shouldn’t trigger something like a kiss. A kiss is… not what I want to share with my ally.”**

Bilbo imagines Azog creating an alliance with a lord and then he kissing them. She bursts into loud cackles, much to the Orc’s dismay. But to see Azog get bothered by it so much, she shifts and gives him a peck on his jaw, “On the other hand,” She explains when Azog glares down at her, “for hobbits kissing is very normal to do between family, siblings, friends, and maybe it’s because your ally is a hobbit, then kissing is also required in our pledge.”

**“That’s a load of crap.”** Azog grumbled.

“It’s the truth!” Bilbo pouts, “Besides, I kinda like it. It as if I have gotten closer to you even more than before. Don’t you  think so?” There’s a cloud of wariness in her eyes when she asks  because she can’t imagine how much hurt it’ll be if Azog decides to hate her only because of a bloody kiss.

Azog considers it for a while, before he whispers,  **“can I kiss you again?”**

“Oh Azog…” Bilbo straightens her back and cups his face with both hands as he tilts to reach her lips, “Friends don’t ask permission.” He hums onto her soft lips, and she whispers on his closed mouth, “They’re just-… hmm… I really like it. I never thought of kissing you before since you don’t have lips and-…”

**“You talk too much.”** Azog hisses through gritted teeth.

“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up.” Bilbo squeals before another chaste kiss lands on her lips.

 

**.   .   .   .   .   .**

Bilbo returns to school and shoves the alliance mark in Iguk’s face, where Azog’s scent can be smelt from  –she can’t smell it herself but she can still feel the lingering warmth of his embrace and the fluttering aftertaste of his  _ friendly _ kisses- and Iguk approves it with a sneer.

**“I told you.”**

Azog chuckled at the sight of a pouty Bilbo standing in front of the infirmary with a bucket of chocolate treats. “Not a word.” She says haughtily while sitting across the Pale Orc, the candies settled in between them, “I told him eating lots of chocolates will rot my teeth but he didn’t care and kept shoving the bucket at me… why are you laughing?”

Azog unwraps a chocolate block,  **“You’re so easily fed up with small matters.”** He says.

“You are too carefree!” Bilbo hisses, though there’s no trace of rage in her tone, only a helpless concern. She helps herself to the chocolate grumpily, until Azog catches her wrist and takes her chocolate stained palm to his mouth. He licks hers clean and then sniffs the black inked scar like a deprived pup seeking attention, spreading warmth and more under her skin. To see how young he looks right now, her little heart overflows with affection and kindness as Bilbo reminds herself, even with his gigantic body, that Azogis  still a newborn.

 

So Bilbo stands and wraps her fingers around his head, hugging him into her chest. “When we’re older, there are choices to be made and sometimes we may need to sacrifice one for another, so I can’t promise I’ll stay with you all the time.” She exclaims softly because she knows most Orcs are immortal and a hobbit isn’t. “But I’ll always fight by your side, no matter what.”

A pair of bigger hands snake around her waist and envelops her in a tight embrace, as she can hear low growls from where he stuffs his face into her ribs,  **“I’ll ask Master to re-create you.”** Bilbo chuckles at the stubbornness in his tone,  _ so childish _ ,  **“make you a powerful Orc Lady, or Lord, if you’re curious to be a male.”** She almost retorts, just in case Azog isn't aware that Sauron wasn’t allowed to make a she-orc anymore after the treaty with the White Council.

Instead she loosens the hug to stare down at him, “a male, really?”

**“It’s possible.”**

“But it’ll be just my body.” Bilbo says, “It won’t be me anymore.”

Azog drowns in thought, the icy blue eyes staring deeply into the green orbs. Possibilities flashed in his mind and sometimes made his grip around her tighten, before she whispers calming words on his temple to calm him down. Then he just snuggles into her neck, inhaling her scent while closing his eyes in his silent way to avoid saying  _ ‘you’re right’ _ and  _ ‘I can’t force you to live as someone you’re not.’ _

 

**“I’ll protect you.”** Azog mutters gruffly,  **“and I’ll kill anyone who dares to hurt you.”**

“Wow, so extreme.” Bilbo squeals, but she doesn’t deny his determination and for that he looks grateful and, if not, a bit smug.

**“Fine, I’ll tear them to pieces then feed them to the hounds.”**

“Okay, that’s too much detail. Now I’ve lost my appetite.”

 

*

 


	3. Mithril of Moria

 

Bilbo hates riding before, and she’s still hate in now.

When she’s ten, Bilbo goes on her first journey from Shire to Rivendell by sitting in the back of wagon and she doesn’t have problem with that, it’s her first journey and she’s happy enough to ignore the bouncy road and unexpected weather. Then she gets riding lesson which not a cherishing experience since she mostly becomes a mess of hay fever and back pain every time she’s mounted on a pony, or anything with fur in general.

Now Bilbo is gifted with a warg pup, courtesy of Orc’s Council for her ‘alliance’ with Azog.

“Are you sure she won’t feast on me if I ever fall from her?” Bilbo asks Iguk who rides next to her while pointing down at her white warg. On her other side, Azog snickers from the top of Naeli –his ride and apparently the mother of Bilbo’s warg- before he orders the giant warg to speed up through the forest on West Moria.

 _What a show off,_ Bilbo mutters under her breath.

 **“She choose you as her ride, she’ll spare your meat.”** Iguk says coldly, **“Just don’t forget to feed her regularly. It'll refrain her from gnawing on your fingers.”**

Bilbo dreads as the older Orc speeds up to follow Azog –the Commander is promoted to be King’s Right Hand- and she immediately whispers to her warg in Black Speech. When she finally catches up with both Orcs, she gives Iguk a concerned look, “you’re joking, right?”

**“Orcs don’t joke.”**

“I hate you right now.”

 **“I don’t care.”** Iguk shrugs and ignores Bilbo who then turns to Azog,

“Why again he has to join our picnic?” but as Azog only answers her with amused glance, Bilbo knows it already how important his position in his clan, it requires the second mightiest Orc to always be in his side. So she doesn’t press him more and broods all their way to Watcher’s Pond, long time ago it’s a restricted park only for Dwarves, then someone drops a water beast in the pond and the place turns into a training ground to practice slaying the beast.   

Bilbo’s entertainment is more to feed the beast than confront it and apparently the beast also prefers it that way than having its regenerate-able tentacles chopped occasionally by brave knights seeking for proper quest.

“What a beautiful night.” Bilbo sighs, as she lies next to Azog in a shallow cave near the pond. Her warg, Nue, tries to coax Naeli attention by jumping around the mother’s tail. Azog hums in agreement, and grumbling something about refreshing half-day rides through winter forest and teaches Bilbo hunting. “I’m feeling better now I’m stuffed till neck with spiced game despite my cramp thighs and my sore bum.”

 **“You’re always complained.”** Azog whispers teasingly.

“You’ll never listen anyway.” Bilbo chuckles lightly. She feels him shifted on his side before his closed mouth presses on her lips. There’s always a thrilling pleasure curls her toes at his every unannounced kiss. It blunts her mind from thinking and shutters her eyes closed in bliss. She brushes her thumb on his jaw, tracing the scar on his face with her fingertips as he growls softly in appreciation. She breathes in his scent, strong and sweet like dark chocolate with a faint hint of blood sauce, as it was his favorite topping in almost every meal. She smiles sheepishly, because he’s from a savage kin yet she finds him adorable and loving. “So…” she asks in between their chaste and tender kisses, “can’t I skip your coronation tomorrow?”

Instantly, his eyes pierce hers with intense look that Bilbo afraid she may just melt into the warm furs beneath them.

“No?” She prompts with a cringe, which gains a light chuckle from the giant Orc as Azog stops looming over her.

“ **Rude Halfling.** ” The young Lord grumbled teasingly, “ **What kind of** friend **are you**?”

Bilbo follows to sit, face still flustered though now in slight irritation, “but I’m _only_ a hobbit and I know so little about your culture. What if I make wrong impression? What if your folks don’t agree for their king to have a hobbit friend?” rather than supporting her worry, Azog tried hard not to snort over her inner peril, at least not loudly.

The Pale Orc only growls softly, **“And you think this ‘** picnic **’ can bribe me from taking you to Dol Guldur?”**

“Well, of course.” Bilbo glares in return, “Just for reminder, I slaughtered a lamb for you, since you loved raw lamb legs dipped in fresh blood and dark chocolate. I sacrificed my second best skirt to get ruined by its blood and gore with hope I don’t have to accompany you into a festival that you claim ‘ **boring as fuck** ’.”

Azog stares at her, **“What should I do to make you come?”**

“Cut it out! I told you I don’t want to come!”

**“Kissing you as compensation?”**

He uses the pause in the air to lean down and pecks her on her temple, makes Bilbo shudders by his words. He moves to trail kisses on the button nose that her throat strangled and her voice stammered by the offer. She gasps, locks her lips around his closed mouth when he presses a chaste kiss on her and she groans lowly at his invading warmth suddenly turns her mind foolishly blank.

This is not a friendly kiss anymore. She realizes at the heat coiled in her stomach, at the ache gnawing in her chest and the fluttering jolt of excitement in between her legs. She titles her face, moving close and closer to him until she’s on his lap, breathing only with his strong scent and melts into his powerful embrace.

He’s sniffing her ear with the tip of his nose and she arches her back, whining at him to stop torturing her with this… this madness…

**“You come, or I have to kiss some more of yours?”**

Bilbo nods, repeatedly, because yes she’ll do anything to stop him from stabbing her poor heart with invisible hook of insolent desire. It’s unfair, really. He’s not even doing more than pecks yet it already riled her up and feeds her with naught and dirty fantasies.

“Brutal Orc.” She pouts as he hugs her in a better spirit now their dispute settled for his favor. He buries his nose into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent as much as he’d like.

 **“Your Orc.”** Azog mutters huskily, enough to set another flame to burn her face in a mix of shame and wants. What she longs from him, it’s still unknown. She can only address it by her conflicted gaze and her clenched jaw when he gives her one last kiss, a tender smooch on her pouty lips. **“Sleep now. We’ll ride back at the first light.”**

They lies nearby, she uses his arm as makeshift pillow before she snuggles into his side, inhaling his scent as the only air. She shuts her eyes, needs to stop thinking, but with his presence it’s hard not to worry about what’s just happened. Her mouth gapes despite she doesn’t dare to sound out her request, afraid it’ll be too complicated to understand for their young mind. He senses her distress –smells it from her scent, very convenience- and caresses her back soothingly until Bilbo sighs in appreciation and presses her body flush to his, arm drapes on his bare chest and leg loosely claims one of his thick and muscled thighs.

Soon she’s drifted into a dreamless sleep, unaware to Iguk’s appearance by the opening of cave after calling in the beasts to huddle around Azog and her ‘cuddle pile’ to preserve warmth and providing protection.

“ **The Erebor-dwarves will attend.** ” The Right Hand mutters the message from Council, eyes staring at her sleeping figure which suddenly get warmer with Nue curls to her back. “ **What if they see her value, My Lord?** ”

Azog growls lowly.

 **“Such gentle creature belongs to Orc King, I bet the dwarves will jealous.”** Iguk continues to snarl mockingly.

 **“Let them be.”** Azog chuckles darkly, not even slight annoyed with the tease, **“I don’t care with their feelings as long as they keep their hands to themselves.”** His pale blue eyes then snakes through her unconscious form in the truly wicked definition of affection before he whispers,

**“Mine.”**

Iguk grins, watches fondly –as fond as Orc can do- at possessiveness and haughtiness from Azog’s simple claim over Bilbo, before the older warrior returns to _his_ watch with an approving nod.

*

From the outside, Dol Guldur may look haunted.

Azog smirks when he sees Bilbo cringes at the abandoned ruin of fortress on the top of hill. “Are you sure this is the right place?” she asks him as they ride through the bridge with Iguk trailing behind. “It doesn’t look fancy, no offense, but I heard tales. I just want to make sure it’s not exaggerating.”

 **“There’s dark magic around the fortress.”** Azog explains, **“It creates barrier between Elven realm and ours, simply because Master can’t stand breathing the same pure air with the elves.”** It’s also designed with dark and thick cloud atop so the citizen of Dol Guldur can be protected from the sunlight during daytime. There’s no rain or snow, only gloomy and windy day at the city which is made of Mordor’s infamous obsidian and marble. He shows it to his little friend, the beauty of the biggest Orc’s fortress after they’re passed magical barrier and smiles maliciously to see Bilbo grows wide-eyed and agape.

It’s not cold and creepy as Bilbo expected from its haunted exterior, but to match with the darkness, fireflies are fluttering in the air like stars, only reachable. It reduces the regal and menacing feature from the sleek black wall, instead gives the place a sense of intimacy.

“Azog, this place is beautiful!” Bilbo pokes one firefly and giggles childishly when she finds it’s an automaton -another invention from Orc’s Club. Azog only grins in return as they ride further through the Low Level which already packed with people -mostly dark beings and their allies- to celebrate the darkest day of winter and his coronation as King of Gundabad Orc. “I hope we can have tour, I want to see every road and I want to meet everyone. I don’t think I’ve ever meet any she-orc or she-goblin in Moria before.”

 **“Oh, that is one.”** Iguk chirps in, nodding at a passing she-goblin. _She_ is short and stout with honey-colored skin, smooth from any disease. _She_ has comical brown eyes and sinister smile, standing proud wearing simple loincloth and necklaces made of beads and bones hanging on _her_ exposed chest. _She_ ’s quite attractive, and when Azog shares this thought with Iguk, the Right Hand smirks deviously in agreement. **“She-orcs are hard to identify and also hard to impress.”** Iguk explains to Bilbo who suddenly doesn’t look so cheered anymore, **“She-goblins, in the other hand, are lovely folk.”**

“Lovely, huh?” Bilbo glances at Azog, smiling stiffly. There’s small drip of sarcasm in her tone but as Azog returns a questioning look she averts her gaze onto the road. “So, Orcs and Goblins, are they get married?”

“Dunno.” Azog casually shrugs. He recalls, Master had explained once about the purpose of Orc re-creation into Middle Earth but he doesn’t remember he has duty to breed someone or continue his line.

 **“Goblins did breed.”** Iguk continues, **“Sadly they’re not dallying with other races. Not that Orcs are family people, we’re not re-animated for that purpose.”**

“So Orcs doesn’t do such thing like… fall in love?”

Iguk barks a cruel laugh, **“Love is privilege to a soul-bearer, little one. Orc doesn’t have soul.”**

“Oh.” Somehow it dims the spark in Bilbo’s gaze. Azog almost asks aloud what’s happened, why she suddenly looks sad. But he refrains himself as if he knows how to respect her boundary and how to express condolence, which is strange because Azog is created to have cold heart. He’s not supposed to ride closer to her or voices his concern by patting her cheek. He’s also not supposed to feel scorching flame in his chest when she raises a way-too-small palm and cups his big fingers on her face, all in while sighing into his touch. Azog isn’t even supposed to feel, at all, but here he is, surrounded by roaring proud and joy to have Bilbo as the part of his second life.

**“You’re captivated.”**

That’s the simple reply from Master, a moment after he brings Bilbo to Great Hall, introduced her to the Council and then leaves her in the hand of Lady Yura to dress her in she-orc ceremonial fashion. He hears it’ll be less fabric and more laces –in which Bilbo objects with scandalized face because she thinks she’ll be put into some decorated underwear- though Azog doesn’t really care what she wears as long as she doesn’t get facial surgery which is very popular amongst Orcs.

 **“Is it possible?”** He asks, standing at the stone balcony at the watch tower, where Master has research lab and study. The tall, hooded figure looms nearby, faceless and shapeless as Master is altered into pure darkness and evil by the hand of Morgoth, though sometimes Azog can see characters in the way _He_ moves or speaks out _His_ wisdom.

 **“It’s not what I planned.”** Master hums, almost sound playful, **“but it’s interesting, for a _no one_ from such worthless kin to put such a strong spell on you.” **

**“She’s not a sorceress.”** Azog grumbles under his breath.

 **“That’s why.”** If that black void inside the hood has a face then Azog sure Master is smiling cunningly at him right now, **“Powerless, she’s already precious to you. Give her time, she’ll conquer the world.”**

Azog knows even with peace treaty nothing can stop Master from desiring world domination. For Master, peace is like stale bread; it’s filling the hunger but doesn’t satisfy the lust. Even after two thousand years since Last Alliance War and Rings of Power destroyed in Mount Doom, peace is always at the edge. Either it’s the ancient dislike between Elves and Dwarves, or the deeply rooted hate between Men and Orcs -even the internal dispute in every big nation- there’s always reason to break this Watchful Peace except for the White Council who diligently comes all across the Middle Earth, settling any indifference and reminds every conflicted nation what had been lost and what will they lose if they start a riot this time.

 **“Will you use her?”** He asks, simply curious.

 **“Will you have her?”** Master asks in return, **“Many will steal her from you and that will be my pleasure to be once again the focus of the world.”**

Azog shrugs boldly, **“they can try. We are infamous for our military innovation, so far only matched to Ironhill dwarves. But the rest, they’re slacked. It’ll be their death.”** Then he spends the rest of meeting discussing each nation’s army with Master, though he already knows Elves weapon are very deadly to dark beings and Men –despite mortal- are like cockroach, they’re always survived even in the most miserable condition. Moria dwarves are their ally, but just in case there’s war between dwarves and Orcs, Balrog can be summoned back from its deep slumber in Mordor, since Erebor dwarves had a dragon guarding their treasure halls.

 **“My Lords.”** Guttural voice distracts his vague battle plan with Master, follows by the sight of Lady Yura entering Master’s study. **“It’s about time.”**

 **“The Halfling?”** Azog asks.

 **“Already there.”** Yura sniffs her foxy nose in proud snarl. **“She’s perfect.”**

Azog doesn’t reply but he also doesn’t hide the spark of delight in his gaze. Trailing behind Master, both Lord and Lady make their appearance at the open court, just as the day changes into dusk. Azog snakes his gaze around the guests of honor, eyeing Lord Fundin and his sons sitting along with Prince Thrain of Erebor who converse with Gandalf. Then there’s Saruman who brings along King Thengel of Rohan and some Elf delegations –who looks the same to one another thus he doesn’t care who is who.

Yura nudges him and points at Iguk who stands next to a pillar. He can smell it, immediately, the hobbit and her fear. **“She’s hiding behind pillar?”** he muses to Yura who scoffs in return.

 **“She’s just shy, let her be.”** The Orc-Lady then goes to sit with the council along with Master, leaving Azog to enter the ceremonial ground, cheered by his people who watch just outside the grid of the circle yard where he’ll reopen his cuts for the last time. He starts by the wound on his chest, before two of council members helps making him bleed and then lead him into a pool contains with dark blood, bathes him in his people’s blood to seal loyalty.

 **“No.”** Azog hisses darkly when one of his escorts put the blade on his scarred palm, **“not that one.”**

It’s his personal mark, a bond strictly between Bilbo and him. The council member dazed at his order but then only nods and began pouring him with blood from the pool until his pale skin stained in black. More cheers erupted from his kin for he’s officially become their King, crowned by his now healing wound as the Mark of Leadership. He spares calm gaze all around, before it fixes on small being standing next to Iguk, wearing black lace bodice in rose pattern, with real black rose knitted as her short skirt. She is put into leather strapped boots covering till her upper knees, showing the tan skin of her plump thighs in a very provocative innocence.

“ **Come here**.” Before he realizes it, Azog gestures her to join him, simply because she’s very lovely and she’s his dearest friend. Her eyes widens and she immediately shakes her head, gaining commotion to herself as the voice of crowds died down and the honorable guests turns at her direction. Azog smiles slyly, calling her once more time, “ **Come to me** , friend.” She still stubbornly holds her ground, only to yelp because Iguk easily carries her to the spotlight and she’s busy cursing under her breath for being manhandled.

“Goodness, you’re embarrassing me.” She stands next to him, brushing invisible dust on her skirt. “What am I supposed to do here?”

Azog leans down –she’s a bit tall now, thanks to the thick soles of her boots- and kisses her side of head, **“Just stay and listen.”**

As if on cue, Master stands from his seat, “Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit of Shire.” She stares at Master with such horror on her face but still manages to stand straight and chin ups over the former Dark Lord, **“for your fierce loyalty to King Azog, Our Council will give you royal title…”**

“Nononono, please don’t bother-…” she chants under her breath but of course Master won’t listen to any of her plea.

**“From now on you’ll be Mithril of Moria, a symbol of peace between Orcs and our allies.”**

Bilbo frowns in shock when Lord Fundin approaches with a jewelry box, hosting a pair of earring which looks like silver but later she'll know it’s made of mithril, the most valuable mineral in Middle Earth. Right now, she can only watch as Azog pierces her ears with each of small loops, wincing in surprised at prickling pain, yet as he rubs the wound soothingly, her face blooms in flustering red and she smiles shyly in acceptance.

“This ain’t necessary.” She scolds him lowly, but before he can say anything in return, Master already speaks with boomed voice to announce the ceremony is over by,

**“Let the feast began!”**

*

 


	4. The Defiler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood play and pain kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Azog and Bilbo remind me of Dr.Manhattan and Silk Spectre

Bilbo is so dizzy.

All around her, the world turns into blur as voice after voice congratulates her, introducing their name and their origin but with no solid figure as if they are made of glittering shadow. At first it freaks her out till familiar hand rests on her shoulder and colorless Azog looms to her side, immediately leads her back from such foolish trance. Now she’s faced the audience again, her sight clearer and her breath calmer. The hovering warmth next to her feeds Bilbo with strength and the soft brush of scarred palm on her back neck gives such a welcoming reassurance.

It gets better when her parents are in sight, standing near Lord Elrond and Gandalf. Instantly, smile tears apart her anxiety as she watches Belladonna sends beaming cheer and Bungo is as baffled and clueless just like her. Bets it’s in Baggins blood to be not so fond of surprise.

.

“I don’t understand.”

The feast is held in a huge glass house, supported by advanced black steel frames structure in hexagonal pattern. Stone tables and stools scattered freely around the sleek and modern space with no specific arrangement or hierarchy. It’s because Orcs don’t care with such details in table manner. For example, Azog doesn’t have any kingly robe or crown, even an actual throne. He casually sits where Bilbo chooses –in the same table with her parents and Gandalf- which draws Iguk and Yura to sit along with them.

“Why I have to be Peacemaker? As far as I recall, I don’t have any value to dwarves.” She asks Azog.

The King glances down at her mockingly and she’s not sure it’s just his expression or has real _mock_ in it. It becomes clear when he only gives a low snort and ignores her statement.

“Fine, don’t answer my silly quest-…”

“I think it’s the part of politic, Bilbo my dear.” Gandalf kindly answers it for her, “Sauron uses your friendship with Azog to give the world a different perspective about dark beings. If you don’t have value to his allies before, I’m sure you will from now on, because this bond between you will raise curiosity amongst other races, especially dwarves.”

 “But why?” Bungo chirps in, asking the question just as Bilbo opens her mouth to complain. “Dwarves are closeted people. Up until today she has trouble befriend the dwarflings at school, so it’s strange if they suddenly agree to make her as Moria’s mascot. They don’t know her.” as usual, Bilbo dad is always full of brutal honesty that even after she’s used with this, it still feels stung.

“I know some dwarves.” She sighs in defense, _wait, just Ori._

“No need to be nice to them.” Azog mutters in scratchy westron, while sipping his drink and then casually reaches for the plate of chocolate truffles while everyone at the table stares at him expectantly. He pops some dark ones into his mouth, yet as he chews, everyone still staring in wait. Bilbo especially sends him annoyed glare, so he rinses his mouth with another cup of red wine and continues with small quirk, “The title is just an exaggerated formality, because everyone in Council are drama queens.”

“Master is very fond of Lady Bilbo.” Yura intervenes him, scrunches _her_ fox nose in disdain because the Council Member apparently doesn’t agree with Azog. “For ages He lives without knowledge about the Hobbit from Shire up until now and finds her kin is astonishing, especially to fearless Lady Bilbo who befriends our King.” Suddenly Bilbo gets stared at in a mix of respect (from Iguk and Yura) and affection (from her parents and Gandalf) which heats her face in embarrassment. She’s not ‘fearless’. If only she knows he’s soon-to-be a King, she’s probably-…

Wait, she’ll probably still approach him, still _shamelessly_ taking it when he offers to be friends because she’s so damn lonely with her boring school life. 

“What makes Lord Fundin agree then, to let Bilbo called as Mithril?” Belladonna asks Yura, “It’s not only the rarest metal in the world, but for someone who’s not a dwarf to be gifted with Durin’s bearing...”

“I bought the earrings, because it’s weightless and won’t ever get rusted.” Azog says gruffly –again, with no real grumpiness behind it. “The Regent is suspicious but he knows about the Baggins, since you worked for him. The Council asks his permission to make Bilbo as symbol of unity within our alliance, and he thinks it’s a good way to stabilize the politic between two nations.”

 **“It’s better than Royal Marriage idea from Goro.”** Iguk adds with nasty smirk addresses to Bilbo, who can’t help but gets hot and flustered in useless jealousy because if Azog is arranged to marry some dwarven princess like in fairy tale, she’ll sure her little heart won’t take it well to lose her dearest friend and reduced to be third person. **“It’ll be over dramatic and super awkward.”**

 **“And disgusting.”** Azog snarls to Iguk, before he glares down at Bilbo, **“you brought this up, little one, almost ruin my appetite.”** He says while reaching the raw game leg on his platter.

“Valar, I’m sorry I don’t know you’re so sensitive about your appetite, big baby.” Bilbo scowls in return because she truly can’t stand it if somewhere in the future the royal marriage will happen. “Here, have it all. You’re the birthday boy, you can have anything you want today.” She doesn’t aware, her sarcasm only brings knowing look and amused grin from other occupants in their table. Her parents especially exchange whispers under their breath when she pampers the childish King with platters of Orc specialties and candies despite being so grouchy at him.

She only turns to meet Gandalf’s eyes, in which she can see the cautious and guarded expression on the Grey Wizard. She startles at that and titles her head questioningly, but then Gandalf gives her a reassuring smile and silently says to ignore _him_ and enjoys the party.

.

Meanwhile, the citizen of Dol Guldur is entertained at the second level yard by the infamous war dance from Moria Performers, in collaboration with Mordor Percussion. It’s a colossal dance consists on hundreds Orcs, Goblins, and Trolls synchronized with the dark orchestra from battle drums, the giant wolf’s head gong, and choir of battle cries.

Before today, Bilbo never knows music can be delivered with savage and brutality -and what most astonishing, so beautiful in harmony- because Hobbit songs are chirping and jolly, while Elf’s music is serene and Dwarf’s is filled to the brim with emotion. Yet as Azog takes Bilbo hands and slips past the clapping crowds and leads them through hallways and stairs till they arrives at the top of watch tower, she stands by the balcony with him, eyes fixed down in awe at the perfect sync of never ending formations beneath them.

“It’s beautiful.” She says again what is in her mind.

 **“Welcome to my world.”** Azog leans down and gives a peck to her side head, brushing the earring slightly and turns her heartbeat as fast as the war drums. She breathes softly, enjoying his touch on her still stinging ear before she scoffs under her breath.

“It’s hurt you know.” She says, “How dare you pierce me.”

He growls pleasingly, before he sits at thick stone fence and drags her along to rest on his lap. She yelps, mostly because her rose skirt is too short and easily crushed. What if she’s slipped and falls from such high place, or worse, the strong wind blows the entire rose petals and exposes her underwear to public. Her complaint comes out as low grumbles and he resonances it with a cruel laugh, though when he sees her pouty face, Azog makes a half-hearted promise to hold her still and never let her go.

 **“It’s a statement.”** As they watch the spectacular show beneath, Azog sniffs her hair and then whispers, **“You’d think it’s meaningless, but it’s important to me.”** He traces her scarred palm with the tip of his sharp nail. **“You’re important to me.”**

Azog slowly re-open her scar, strangling Bilbo by invisible force which made her unable to breathe and can only watch the process in wicked anticipation. It’s sting, it’s hurt, but it also feels good each time he presses further and cuts deeper. Red blood oozed from her wound, but before any of it spills, Azog makes hasty cut on his own scar and entwines their palm.

Both are hissing at the flaming sensation. Once again they seal their bond; once again they’re urged to touch, to hold, if possible to merge into one body shares two hearts. It’s like desire, strong and undeniable as it blends into the thick scent of their mingled blood and covers their senses from anything else except for each other. It makes Bilbo whines lowly, desperately saying out her demands though it comes out as incoherent nonsense. Yet Azog understands as he growls in return, gently leads them from the fence and returns inside where there’s warm hearth and furs rug.

Their hands are still entwined, still dripping with blood.

Hazily, they’re dropped to the rug in front of fireplace, the stained palms rests on her side head. Azog clenches her palm, spurting more blood out of the cuts and both moans as if their heart stops beating briefly, before they’re resurrected back to reality. Gaze pierces to gaze, their breath ghosted on each skin and soon their lips locked in desperate click. The kiss ain’t chaste and platonic anymore. Fire sparks in each of his smooch, though he’s still so carefully gritting those sharp fangs as to not accidentally ruin her small and comely face. More whines vibrate in her throat at the wetness they share through saliva, and she smiles a little to hear him purring in delight over the new scent, new taste, and new sensation.

 

“So… Orc does have desire.” She breathes on his lips when they’re parted only by inch. The tip of his dark tongue –Bilbo finds everything about orc’s body part shaded in monochromatic tone- licks her bottom lips teasingly. “I thought… when Iguk says your people don’t breed…” her words cut by another mind blowing kiss. She starts to feel light and dizzy, wondering if it’s because their now glued scars. The blood stops flowing but the tender flesh still rubbed together. It’s not hygiene, it’s improper, unnatural, bla bla bla… however, the pain is like addiction. It’s unpleasant yet in the same time arousing her greatly.

“We don’t need soul for such pleasure, even _babies_ know it.” Azog purrs in tease.

“I figure that.” Bilbo chuckles lightly, before they share one last kiss in a very delicious slow motion, just as he grabbed their united hands and in return she grasps tighter, only to writhe at the remaining ache from their rubbed raw skin. He raises them to sit, before carefully releases their bond. Satisfactory smirk twists his face, maybe it’ll make other pissing from fear but for Bilbo it’s very attractive. He’s always so handsome to her, especially right now when he stares at her like she’s his everything.

“ **I’m not supposed to desire anyone till I’m officially an adult, which in the next ten years.”** He says when they nurture each other wound and heal the dizziness from losing blood by sharing flame ale. Bilbo will never get used to it, no matter how Azog says there’s no one blood sacrificed to make it despite the tangy smell and coppery taste. **“But the blood pledge triggers the lust, which is my bearing.”** When Bilbo only gives him clueless look he sighs fondly, **“You do think Azog the Defiler only a fancy title, don’t you?”**

 “Well, it’s not?”

Azog laughs, **“No, it’s not. Orcs are generally reborn with cold-blooded and emotionless tendencies, some even still possesses cannibalism, but for them in higher rank such as Commanders and Council Members, they have a very fatal and vicious flaw which is worth a name, like Iguk is wellk nown as the Merciless, because he has a very bad case of anger issue.”**

“So…” Bilbo mutters with dread, “Defiler means you’re what… a pervert?”

Azog scrunches his face, **“Lustful, yes.”** He says it gruffly, **“I desperately want to change the flaw but even with planned second life, there’s always unexpected thing to happen.”** He then embraces her loosely, burying his face into her curls as he does so, **“Like meeting you.”**

If there’s fear and constant worry haunting her heart before, they are ushered away by his warmth and affection. She scoots until she’s seated again at her favorite place on his lap.

“Do you love me, then?” she asks playfully, doesn’t expect any serious answer.

 **“Yes I do.”** But he says it firmly and she feels like bursting into pieces.

 

*

 

In the next day, when Bilbo returns to class –minus Azog since he’s stayed in Dol Guldur from now on and will continue his training under Master’s order- suddenly all eyes fixed on her. Whether the dwarflings or dark beings stops chattering with their own and gives her judging stare. Instantly she wishes Azog is here so she can stop imagining their unspoken rejection to her existence. Not only from seething dwarves who may gets insulted because she’s just randomly chosen as Peacemaker, Orcs may also get jealous for her privilege as their King’s friend. Who knows if any of them having crush on Azog. He’s quite attractive and sexy for Orc. He’s also a good kisser.

Bilbo sighs.

She decides to ignore all stares and heads to a couple of alienated desks in the middle of room just as realization struck that from now on, she’ll back to the time before Azog is born, or it can be worse with the constant glances from others spying her each movement but with no intention to talk to her.

“Bilbo.”

“Ori, don’t!”

Like a miracle, ginger haired Ori approaches her desk despite her friends’ warning. The young dam then stands before her desk, staring at her wide-eyed in total nervousness, matched to Bilbo’s awestruck face, “I… I… I’m just… I’m sorry, there’s rumor around that you’re Az-… the Defiler’s betrothed…” at this point Bilbo’s throat become dry and her mouth turns agape in shock, though she won’t lie there’s also fluttering joy bursting inside her ribcage, “and last night Lord Balin announced that you… you’ve been officially engaged to him!”

“That’s…” Bilbo can’t help but feeling dizzy, “no, no, no, you’re mistaken. It’s…”

“It’s true!” one of Orc-lings? stands from his chair and hisses at Ori in wrecked westron, enough to startle the nervous dam and alerts her dwarrow friends. But the Orc makes no further move and only points at Bilbo, “I was there. I’m having a lot of boar intestines, they’re surprisingly very juic-…” his friend pokes him on his pecks for suddenly gets out of topic and the orc blinked, “oh right, I mean, I was there, when Our Lord become King. Lady Naggin’ – _It’s Baggins!_ Bilbo snaps- also there, taking rings from King Azog! Look at her head! She wears his rings! She’ll be our Queen.” And out of control, the dark beings cheered, shouting ‘Queen Naggin’ and Long live the Queen’ till Gandalf has to use those ‘deep voice’ to stop the commotion so the wizard can start the history class.

Maybe Orcs are really as retarded as Bilbo thinks –except Azog, of course- to misunderstand such simple ceremony and to make assumption Azog will marry her… well, she’s  a bit hopeful, but let’s not be too happy because it’s not what truly happened despite it’s what her classmates believed.

 

“So?”

When she’s standing in front of her locker, Ori stubbornly asks her, “is it true?”

Bilbo closes her locker door and smiles at the curious dam, “if I tell you the truth,” she bargains, “will you tell me why your friends try so hard to keep you from being nice to me?”

Ori blinks in daze, definitely taken aback with her direct question, but innocently the young dam mutters as if Bilbo already known the reason and only needs reminder, “because dwarrowdams are rare and my family has two out of our three siblings. So others just being over-protective at the point it’s annoying.” There’s a sad smile on her as she shrugs, “but that’s how we lived, Bilbo, it’s our tradition and I’m sorry if I can’t just go against it.”

It’s not enough to heal the months of bitter loneliness, but at least Bilbo can stop the ache from spilling imaginary blood. Pain is irritating when it’s not related to Azog or desire, or both, “then you’re very brave, Ori, back in the class. It must hurt the macho pride of your dwarrow, to let you slip and talk to me.” Ori blushes at hearing this, “where are they, now?”

“In Lord Dwalin class, I skipped. I’m not very fond of combat training.” Ori admits as if it’s a greatest crime, which is very cute. “Because… because I’m so curious and I had enough chaperoning! It’s not like I’ll get any danger in school!”

“Right.” Bilbo chuckles lightly, “I assure, you’re safe with me. Now, where do you want to go so I can tell you the details? There’s only a couple place I can roam freely, infirmary or cafeteria.” Orc Club also opens for her but of course she won’t suggest that to Ori.

“No! Not the cafeteria!” Ori immediately gets panic, “My sister sometimes help Master Bombur at _Khazd_ kitchen, if she finds out I’m skipping class, she’ll nag me to death! Let’s go elsewhere. What about library?”

“Restricted to dwarves, remember?”

“Oh but I know the pass code.” Ori says, “and Master Bifur is very kind, he teaches us whittling our own toys. Let’s go there, I can also show you my favorite books.”

Maybe it’s still a dream, to _finally_ find out how her classmates see her relationship with Azog and to slowly sort the cultural gap between Ori and her. On their way to library, Ori tells that Bilbo is quite famous amongst her friends. It starts from small talks between Ori and her little group of chaperones, discussing about possibilities how Bilbo can find liking in Azog. One says she’s get blinded by dark spell, other says her meal is poisoned with Orcs evil concoction because there’s no way someone from gentle race falling in love with such frightening monster –Ori apologizes for no better term but Bilbo waves it away. Azog is really a monster, and she thinks it’s the part of his charm.

“One day, Healer Oin overhears us and instead scolding us from minding other people’s business, he adds more spices into our theory, saying he witnessed it by his own eyes, you’re often seen together with the Defiler in the infirmary.” Ori says in a mix of astonishment and scandalized face, “without any supervision! I’m sorry if we’re wrong but in our society such act of intimacy is the privilege of engaged couple!”

“Well in mine, it’s simply two friends hang out together.” Bilbo hisses, she’s also embarrassed with such silly accusation. “Dear Ori, Azog is my bestfriend.” She raises her palm where the X symbol scarred on her skin, “this is our alliance pledge, where we exchanged blood in an agreement to keep our friendship forever, so there’s no engagement, ok? Please correct others before the news spreads further. If my dad hears it he’ll get heart attack, then he’ll return from dead to chase Azog away despite Azog is twice bigger and a King. I dunno, I just feel like dad is capable…”

“That’s… a blood pledge?” Ori whispers in daze, and Bilbo has a feeling she’d been talking for nothing.

“Yes. This is the part of Orc culture. They pledge alliance and loyalty with their blood…”

“It’s amazing!” Ori chirps in, “I always wonder why Orcs had so many scars. Dori says they gain it from unimaginable torture in their previous life. So you say those scars are mostly ceremonial? Like how dwarves gets tattoo when they’re of age? Oh Mahal I want to know everything!”

Bilbo wants to scold Ori for keep cutting her words but to see the pure interest sparkles in the dam’s gaze, she doesn’t have a heart to do so.

“I also want to know dwarf culture.” She admits, “not the very sensitive, just common knowledge because I know how secretive your people are and I respect that. Like, the popular snacks -except Master Bombur cookies, anyway, it’s still the best for me.”

“It’s my favorite too.” Ori giggles shyly.

*


	5. Oakenshield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These scenes happen before and after coronation time.

 

“Dad?”

Bilbo's parents rent a workshop with a living quarter in the Outer Grid of Khazad Dum. It’s the area for non-dwarves Inns and the settlement for foreign residents and merchants. These folks are allowed to enter the realm only for Market day or if they possess special craft like Bilbo’s Mom who has to restore old document and also teaches her skill to the young scribes.

“Hmm?” Bungo answers without looking.

“What if…” She pauses just to gain attention and only continues when Bungo gives her a curious look, “I love Azog?” And when her Dad says nothing and only raises his eyebrows in amusement, Bilbo starts to fluster in shame, “I know, I know it’s embarrassing and very childish but I don’t want to _just_ be friends.”

“Oh, no, my dear, that’s not my concern.” After he recovers from brief shock, Bungo returns his gaze to his working table, where he crafts ‘Oakenshield’ an arm protector designed from unattractive and rusty oak branch, all in while polished with silvery thread called Mithral? Mithrandir…? Wait that’s Gandalf’s elvish name.

“Just… He’s going to be a King tomorrow.” Bungo says, “And we’re just hobbits, not even the respectable one.”

Of course, whatever else, social status will always become the main concern for any Baggins. Bilbo clears her throat at this, “yeah, that too.” She sighs in defeat, “I can’t love him, right?”

“No, no no…” Bungo immediately approaches her slumping figure at comfy chair in the corner and kneels in front of her, taking her hands in between his reassuring palms, “I don’t say you can’t love him. I’m just surprised. It’s okay to fall in love and be insecure about it. But you can also explore your feeling for him.” Bung smiles, “I suggest, you nurture it first, let it grow as you grow your friendship with him. When you think you can bear it then you can ask for his choice.”

Bilbo doesn’t like the answer, but that doesn’t mean Dad is wrong. She’s just barely hit puberty, after all. It’s the age when she learns about love and desire, while also have to deal with the burst of emotions and the constant worry in making decision about her life. “But… but it’s hurt…” she grimaces, because it does hurt when she feels the love but knows nothing to do with it. “What if… what if he rejects me?”

“Then you’ll move on.” Bungo whispers so gently, “Because it’s not love when you can’t be together.”

 “But Dad…” _don’t say that, it’s so cruel!_ Her mind whines.

 “I don’t tell you this to break your hope, little one.” Her dad chuckles, still thinking her as a little girl despite Bilbo grows so fast that she already reaches his chin. “I’m just being honest.”

“I appreciate that.” Bilbo grumbles broodingly yet when Bungo gives her doubtful look, she immediately snuggles close to her dad, “I mean it.” She insists.

Bilbo remembers again about Azog, the slyness and in the same time, the gentleness.

She hugs Bungo’s neck a bit tighter, sighing, “What will I be without you, Dad?”

There’s a mirthful laugh escaped from Bungo, as the older hobbit brushes her back soothingly, “Don’t tell your mum that! She’ll be very cross with me!”

Imagining Mum’s childish jealousness draws a smile on her lips. She giggles as she releases him from the hug and watches him returning to his desk, threading the silvery metal into the pattern of the hard wood. For a long moment, they spend the time arguing about what they’ll have for elevensies and luncheon, up until Bilbo comes up with a curious question,

“How does Prince Thorin look alike?” She asks, and when Bungo glances at her she adds with a shrug, “Dwarves are very proud with their craft and I heard Erebor itself has their halls covered _literally_ in gold and some expensive stuff. So it doesn’t make sense that their Crown Prince wants an ugly ‘log’ as his shield.”

“Excuse me, it’s not just an ugly log, my dearest, it also threaded with Mithril, the toughest and weightless metal on Middle Earth.” Right, it’s called Mithril.

“For protection, yes. For aesthetic…urgh…” Bilbo makes an impression of throwing up, much to set Bungo’s eyebrows high in a mix of astonishment and irritation. “Is he blind or what?”

“That’s rude, Bilbo.” Bungo deadpans. “Prince Thorin isn’t a disable. He’s just a bit eccentric for a dwarf. While others assign the best blacksmith for their custom shield, he chooses to make disguised protector just so the attackers underestimate him.”

Bilbo scrunches her face, “why would someone attack him? Is he a bad guy?”

Bungo sighs. “Valar, are you pretend to be cute or are you testing my patience right now?” and to find Bilbo smiles slyly, the older hobbit grumbles, “fine, do as you like. Wait till I tell Azog you fancied him.”

“Traitor!” Bilbo gasps, immediately jumping at her dad who laughs in mirth at her embarrassment. At least until Azog knocks on the open door, telling Bilbo he can’t wait forever. He’ll eventually get hungry and her mysterious sandwich packs keep seducing him to sneak a peek.

“See you at the ceremony, Dad.” Bilbo kisses her dad, before following Azog to the Great Road where Iguk waits with their ride.  

 

*

 

Bilbo takes a seat in an empty hallway, clenches the front of her bodice because it’s too much. She feels too much for one day and for one person, it’s a miracle she manages to survive the ridiculous amount of heart attack –not mention the recent blood loss after such reckless snog- she has today.

 

_‘Do you love me, then?’_

**_‘Yes I do.’_ **

 

Her question and his confession… she doesn’t know what to do except leaving because the majority part of her wants to hold him and be held till the dawn and she’s not ready for such consequence. Immediately, Bilbo feels stupid for asking and hoping to get rejected because when it’s unrequited at least she’ll be the only one who gets broken heart.

“I’m sorry.” She says when she hears heavy yet familiar footsteps approaching, as she begins unbuckles the straps from her boots which is forgotten since Azog acts as a great distraction. “I am not freaked out… it’s just, well, I’m freak out a bit because it’s not what I expected and I’m so happy…” she struggles with the last straps around her ankle –which unreachable- and starts whining lowly, “For the goodness sake, could you help me with this damned shoes-…”and finally, when she looks up the hobbit finds a black haired dwarf staring at her wide-eyed.

“Good gracious,” _This is embarrassing._ “I’m terribly sorry.” She sighs in defeat, “I think you’re someone else.”

The dwarf still gapes at her for a long while, before _he_ swallows a big gulp and whispers dazedly, “By Mahal, what are you?” If such accusing word comes from Orc’s mouth, she can understand. But to hear it from a –supposed- mannered dwarf, Bilbo can’t help but frowns in shock at such rudeness. “I’m sorry.” Apparently the rude dwarf startles from his mistake, “I don’t mean to… I’ve never seen a kin like yours before.”

Bilbo takes a deep breath, feeling silly to read too deep into situation. This black haired dwarf is only surprised, “Are you the part of Erebor-dwarves, then?” she asks politely and he nods, still in daze.

“I think your Company is in the courtyard, enjoying the show.”

“I know.” He says stiffly, “In fact, I’m trying to head there, with no luck. I believe I’m strayed against my will from my group. Obsidian…” he glances around at the black wall, “is not friendly to dwarves. I’ve been directed to empty corridors and janitor closet.”

“No way, you’re lost?” Bilbo can’t help but grins. A dwarf tricked by rocks!

“I’m afraid yes.” He admits bitterly, with no small amount of irritation shown on his face.

“How? Obsidian is also a rock, right?”

“Yes it is, in solid form. But it’s created from sedimentation of Mount Doom, which is where Sauron tempers his One Ring and later he destroyed the entire Rings of Power. It’s like infusing a very strong dark magic into the stone and built them into this fortress.” He mutters stiffly, “It’s dangerous to be here. These halls are alive and haunted.”

For a brief moment Bilbo believes him and indeed gets scared to death. However, the blasted dwarf quirks a small smirk, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. Yes, this place is haunted, but it’s not dangerous except to them who seek to harm it.” And to see Bilbo’s face turns red in a mix of rage and shame, he continues, “I have two nephews around your age, I can’t resist the temptation for horror story.”

“Well you can’t just rudely scare a stranger, Master dwarf!” she hisses.

The brunette laughs softly, “I apologize again, little Miss. I hope you don’t mind showing me the direction of my company. I’m not joking when I say the rock pulls prank at me!”

“Well, I think you deserved it!” She grumbles in irritation, but she knows the joy of pulling prank, she’s a hobbit and half coming from a family of greatest prankster. “Wait, I’ll find the big baby to help you. I’m also a guest here, I don’t really know my way around without him.” Yet as she tries to hop down, Bilbo recalls about her boots, “Oh, first, the boots… I need to…”

And Bilbo freezes when the dwarf kneels in front of her and helps her removing the last straps. Gently, each of boots removed from her legs, leaving her laced socks as remains.

The dwarf looks up and now she can see _him_ closely, he had eyes in very deep shade of blue, with facial structure more similar to Men from the long face and slim nose. His beard also unique, kept short and trimmed neatly. His braids are simply framing on each side, with silvery bead clasped at the end.

But what truly catches her attention was his tattoo on the left cheek, shaped in strange geometric composition, colored in blood red. She finds interest in signs and scars now, after nurturing Azog’s from time to time and bearing the blood pledge on her own palm. Suddenly she wants to know if this dwarf’s tattoo has any meaning though for now she doesn’t pry, only smiles as the dwarf stops kneeling.

“You don’t have to, but thank you.”She giggles shyly.

“You’re welcome, little one.” He helps her to stand and walks while holding her fingers loosely as if he tries to protect her from stumbling and slipping through the stone floor. It’s ridiculous, he’s the one who keep heading into wrong turn and needing guidance.

“You really just have bad sense of direction, aren’t you, Master Dwarf?”

“Hush you.” The dwarf scolds her.

*

Azog raises his non existent eyebrows when he finds Bilbo with none other than Oakenshield, one of Princes from Erebor. His gaze trails to their entwined hands and a rumble of jealousy tries to make appearance at how close Oakenshield to brush over her pledge scar despite _he_ wears gloves.

“Azog!” Bilbo runs, her feet are bare except for decorated socks and Azog absently carries her to his shoulder because he doesn’t like it to find she’s so exposed to cold winter. She yelps and grumbles in displease at how ‘inappropriate’ her position is in front of the ‘guest’, yet he focuses on watching the Erebor dwarf who stands in shock at their close interaction. Azog wonders what is transpired in Oakenshield’s mind right now and if Master makes a right move blessing Bilbo as Peacemaker to create jealousy and ruin the peace.

Because Oakenshield will be the best pawn in the game, with the Dwarves of Seven Kingdom will answer to Erebor’s calling to battle and _his_ alliance to Smaug, the Greatest Calamity in Middle Earth.

“The Defiler.” Oakenshield nods stiffly. It’s only polite to call Orc Lord with their bearing name since Azog respects the dwarf prince by doing the same.

“Oakenshield.” He grunts lowly. “These are private halls for Master.”

“He’s lost.” Bilbo whispers on his ear, providing information, “Can we escort him back to the courtyard? He’s very nice to me.”

Azog snorts, **“I will walk with him. You’re cold. Go inside and wear your coat, Iguk will accompany you to your parent’s chamber.”**

As expected she pouts, “but that’s unfair! Why I have to retire for the night when you can stay late?”

Obviously, it’s because he’s a dark being. He is more awake and energized during night rather the day and she knows this. Besides she’s already tired from their picnic yesterday and the whole day excitement before the coronation. **“You have school tomorrow.”**

“You too!”

 **“I don’t anymore. I’m a King now.”** Azog puts her down in front of the door, **“Now go inside, call Iguk when you’re done.”** And he plants a comforting kiss on her lips just so she stops pouting at him, and makes sure Oakenshield sees it so he can judge any reaction. There’s more shock in the dwarf face as they walks through the empty hallways and he’s glad silence keeps them apart from exchanging fake pleasantry. He has to growl in reminder at the dwarf a few times, by the way, each time Oakenshield absently makes independent turn. Once nearly enters one of Lady’s chamber, which forces Azog to yank the brunette hoods and curses at _his_ poor sense of direction in various Black Language.

“The last one enters Narina’s room without her permission become headless.” He hisses. “Don’t stray!”

“It’s not on purpose!” Oakenshield grunts back.

“Stay with me, then! **Scumbag!** ”

.

“So…” after a while walking broodingly at safe distance, Oakenshield mutters, “that’s the Hobbit.”

Azog hums gruffly.

“Do you think it’ll work?”Oakenshield asks curiously, “using her as symbol of peace? Will it really keep the alliance in Moria? Isn’t taking a Dwarf Lady as your betrothed will be a better insurance?”

Azog groans, “By Morgoth, why people keep suggesting Royal Marriage today…” He glares down at Oakenshield, “I don’t really care about politics and diplomacy, that’s the job for Council. If the Peacemaker idea isn’t working, there’s always another way to keep this blasted _peace_. Though, if there’s a war break I won’t even get worried.”

“That’s very bold of you.” Oakenshield says thoughtfully, “And very reckless.”

Azog shrugs and says nothing in return. He’s a living dead so in theory, nothing can scare him anymore. However, there's anxiety and guilt hit him each time he sees into Bilbo eyes and recalls how he let Master drags her into their international affair as a bait for World War. There's always possibility it won't work, but if it's the otherwise, he does fear it if he can't save Bilbo in time from turning into lifeless victim, or worse, she betrays him for a better side.

_What to do, then?_

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't decide Thorin's role in the story yet, any suggestion?


	6. The Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided Thorin's role and now I can post this, sorry for the long await and please enjoy reading

Special POV: Thorin

 

In the first meet, he feels nothing at the she-hobbit but simple admiration. To someone who is lost beyond help in this dark realm, Thorin pauses even from his trail of thoughts –or more exactly, complaints- to see the small being disguised in black _web_ of what they call ‘She-Orc’ fashion. She is pale, almost as cold as statue in appearance, but when she’s finally turned at him, Thorin realizes she’s not another sick experiment from Sauron – if not perfect in beauty.

The small being is so alive, breathing from her button nose which slightly twitched in curiosity, blinking from her doe eyes, sparkling in the blue-green complexion that Thorin cannot recall the exact comparison to any gem against the color. [ _It’s like the color of the sea_ ] a voice in his mind contributes and it only raises wonder in him because in his one hundred and fifty years, never once Thorin travels to any sea shore.

 _[I’ll take you there, sometimes_ ] promises the voice, amused.

Thorin ignores the voice in his mind, for the moment he forgets who he is and to whom he bonded through his inking. He focuses on the beautiful being in front of him, easily admitting to his obstacle; despite carefully dodge the true reason why he’s so affected to dark magic. It’s a long story, including the curse of Durin Line and the firedrake from the north and the stupid arkenstone, which he doesn’t need any reminder now.

He focuses on the little girl, even warming up to her like he’ll be to Fili and Kili. She seems around their age, just barely reaches puberty and already so thirsty to conquer the whole world. It’s so adorable, the way she’s struggled with her boots. It’s so comely, the way she grumbles like insolent brat. He thinks nothing when helping removing her boots, only doing it out of impulse as he often helps his nephews with theirs too.

However, when she stares right into his eyes and thanks him softly, his heart burns.

It’s like his skin licked by fire, warm enough to tickle the exterior, yet it scorches his insides, alerted all senses to recognize the calling and answers it. It dazes him for a moment, before he starts to panic in realization, because a Prince of Erebor can’t have their One from other races than a dwarf. This custom, of course, gaining snort from the Hoarder who shares connection to his mind

 _[You_ befriend _a dragon before. The Greatest Calamity in Middle Earth, if I must remind. Don’t be a coward now.]_

If only there’s enough time to decide what to do with this newfound of his One, because she’s still so young and there’ll be decades till she’s of age. However, whatever scenario he has in mind crashes into pile of dust when she leads him to the Defiler and he sees their kiss.

It’s strange.

The Defiler is so huge and distorted and _dead_ , while she’s so small and energetic and _alive_.

His heart beat races, but not in rage. His mind became dizzy but not in jealousy. He’s marked as loony by the Dragon and he can’t deny it because he does think it’s crazy to see his –supposed- One is touched and seemingly in love with the worst of race in Arda, while Thorin watches in fascination.

_[How?]_

That’s also his question, though it’s rude to ask. So he continues watching the intimate interaction in between the Orc King and this… Bilbo Baggins. The size gap is sadistic since she’s only half of the Defiler in _everything_ , but he can’t deny the hint of adorable moment in their banter, like in Bilbo’s wittiness and the Defiler’s childish grunt because _he_ ’s still a newborn Orc.

Thorin frowns. He doesn’t know what to do or what to feel right now. So a stoic mask is put on, keeping his façade from falling through his journey back to the Company with the King himself as escort.

.

“Thorin? Hey, are you listening?”

He startles from his daze and silvery white lights of morning light poured into his vision, blinding him for a moment before he can actually see the interior of sunroom in Royal Quarter of Khazad-Dum, overstuffed chairs occupied by Dwarven Lords, Elves and Wizards alike while on every surface there’s served morning tea, scones, pies and other light snacks.

Right, the party ended in the dawn, _curse those night beings!_ Thorin almost nods off on his pony when the honorable guests are led back to Moria through Goblin’s tunnel. Then when everyone is ready to bed, Gandalf suddenly has idea to hold a forum discussion over breakfast, generally to discuss about the influence about Azog’s kingship to the rest of middle earth, though Thorin’s dad and brother are more interested in the hobbits.

“Yes.” He grumbles lowly at Frerin’s curious look, “is the meeting over yet?” he didn’t mean it to say it aloud, but it does turn all eyes on him.

He can hear the Hoarder cackled loudly from inside his mind, that lazy slug.

Gandalf, who’s not appreciated it to be cut when in the middle of heated debate with Saruman, gives Thorin a narrow look, “well, I think it is, for you. Why don’t you retire for the day, Thorin Oakenshield. Honestly, if you’re not lost then we’ll find you asleep during meeting.” It is the usual sarcasm, but Gandalf always has this fondness for him, ever since the wizard saved him from getting exiled by his mad grandfather –because he ties alliance with dragon- and persuades the Wise Council to give him the honor as Peacemaker between Three Kingdoms, Erebor- Dale-Greenwood, no matter Thorin loathes it.

“I can’t help it if you’re such a boring old wizard.” He says flatly, had been on lots meeting by Wise Council to find Gandalf and Saruman banter is more like a love quarrel than a true discussion. “So yes, Sauron plans something, we all agree with you but we don’t have any clue so far and it’s dangerous to act based on assumption.”

“So, you prefer to do nothing to save the hobbit?”

At that, Thorin is suddenly wide awake. He stops slouching on his chair and fixes his gaze at Lord Elrond. The usual calm Elven Lord now looked strained and stern.

“Why we have to save her?” he asks back, his voice low and careful, all in while recalls about last night when he sees her interaction with the Defiler. For Thorin, Bilbo Baggins doesn’t look like she needs a savior from the one she loves.

 _[She loves an Orc. People think it’s abominable]_ the dragon provides him explanation, which also strikes him with bitter reminder that she’s also Thorin’s One and of course, his people will think it’s _abominable_ for him to pursue his connection to her. “As far as I see, she’s not currently in danger. But she’ll be, if any of us tried to separate her with the Defiler.”

“I know Bilbo ever since she’s ten.” Elrond says warily, “she’s not as brilliant as her dad or courageous like her mother, but she has gentle heart and pure soul.”

“She may not magical or immortal, but I’ve seen how Sauron corrupts the wisest Elven Lord, driven them mad by greed and grudge.” Saruman adds, “It’s in the past now, with the loss of majority power from the Ring’s destruction and so he can only make Orcs from the remaining corpse, but that doesn’t mean he won’t seek chance in harming the hobbit.”

“Is she that important?” Thrain, who mostly observes in silence, suddenly speaks.

“Yes of course,” Gandalf glares at the Dwarf Prince aside that she’s currently an ‘unaware’ hostage to Orc Lord, Bilbo and her parents are my friends. You know it well what I will do for friends.”

“Yeah, you saved my son, Tharkun. I am always thankful for that. But ain’t you folks exaggerating this too much? They’re just… kids.” Thrain shrugs, “Thorin here also has a crush on Lady Galadriel when he’s just a wee lad-…”

“Adad!” Thorin hisses, not again! He has it enough to be set as example of reckless teenager in front of these damned Lords.

“Calm down, Thorin.” Thrain smiles a bit to see the heavy atmosphere in the room slowly lightened, because in truth dwarves are not as stern as they look. They’re actually very good companions especially as drink buddies. Ask Greenwood Elves for any proof, there’s an illegal drinking competition between Elves, Men and Dwarves in Laketown – it becomes illegal ever since King Thranduil finds out his own son participates along with Fili, Kili and Young Prince Bard of Dale. “My point is, if you want to save her don’t do it forcefully. We must plant the concept of good and bad in her without pointing out her mistake in choosing side.” It’s an acceptable idea, but still, Thorin feels this ain’t right. “From what I heard –I’ve talk to her dad during the party, no one notice, right?- she’s befriend with orc at school because our dwarflings are afraid to approach her. They’re confused at what kin she is and whether it’s okay or not to trust her.”

Thorin stares at his father in disbelief.

“So what, we’re seducing her back to the good side?” Prince Legolas asks. “I think I can do that. I have an emotionally constipated guy and cold bastard as best friends. I think I can handle a drama queen.”

“Dude, how do you know Thorin is constipated?” Frerin laughs.

“Sorry, who do you call ‘cold bastard’?” Haldir, the representative from Lothlorien gives Legolas a pointy look.

“I think Elves won’t do, Legolas. You’re only here for a few days and it’s too short to build friendship with her.” Saruman says, while Thorin keeps staring at his dad, trying to read what’s transpired in the older Prince’s mind.

“Yes, the one who must approach her is Thorin.” Thrain’s smile grows wider, though not directly addresses to him, Thorin can feel every twist of it and suddenly his heart raced in anxiety, immediately burdened with the task.

Why?

 _[Because you’re the Peacemaker]_ The Hoarder’s voice surfaced into his conscious again _[Your father thinks because you’re bearing the same title, then you’ll understand her better than any else would.]_

“Do you think it’s wise?” He asks in concern, “I am not a kid or a child-at-heart, like our Greenwood _Princess_ here.” he gets a spoon thrown to his skull for that. It doesn’t even hurt and so he continues while ignoring his urgh, elf friend. “I think to be her friend is a crime.”

“You don’t have to be her friend in that way.” Saruman stares at Thorin as if he’s still thirty and needs scolding, “you can be a tutor, explains to her about your role as Peacemaker, sharing your own tales on how you ended become the part of Wise Council, promises her to be one of us if she let you bring her to our meetings, stuffs like that.”

“Lord Saruman, do you think it’ll work?” Glad to know he’s not the only one who thinks the same, as Elrond asks the leader of Istari.

“Yeah, I think she’ll only be freaked out.” Legolas adds. “I mean, having a dragon on Thorin’s speed dial sure freak me out. I don’t know why I’m still his friend, anyway.”

“That’s because you fancied Sma-ufff!” and Haldir is stuffed with napkin for the interruption.

.

“Thorin.” As Saruman and Thrain explain the benefit of the plan to Elrond, Gandalf asks Thorin to speak in private. He rises from his seat and follows the wizard into another room, which is happened to be an empty pantry. “You must help her.”

“But my father doesn’t _just_ want her saved. She must value something to _him_ now. Though I don’t know what it is yet, I can’t risk escaping her from Azog only to get her into worse danger.”

For a moment Gandalf is watching him in daze, as if it’s enough to read him just by the swirl of emotions in his eyes, “By goodness,” the wizard whispers, “she’s your One.”

“I know, thanks for mentioning.” Thorin scowls. He hates magical being, whether it’s the dragon, or elves or wizards. They tend to point the obvious. “But I refuse to pursue my bond with her and if it’s allowed, I don’t want to approach her right now. She’s a kid and it’s better to have the dwarflings socialize with her rather than an adult. ”

“Hmm, that’s a wise thinking.” Gandalf smiles, “and I think I know the right person to be your little spy.”

*


	7. Courage

*

Ori POV

*

 

“No.”

 

She knows it well, her answer brings a trouble. Here she is, sitting in between her sister and brother, facing Gandalf and the Infamous Dragon Friend and Peacemaker of Three Kingdoms, Thorin II Oakenshield.

She happens to fancy Thorin, and almost faints at the sight of the Prince inside Lord Fundin’s household, which is where Ori lives after her sister gets married to Balin. But as she hears Gandalf and Thorin’s request for Ori to spy on Bilbo and if possible, _persuades_ the Mithril to ditch Azog and joins White Council, suddenly she doesn’t feel so high over Thorin anymore and she hates Gandalf, a lot.

“Ori, don’t be rude.” Her sister scolds her softly. Ori holds an urge to roll her eyes because no matter what, Dori only cares about manner the most. Maybe it’s because Dori has a _royal_ father –a far cousin of Durin’s Line- while Nori and Ori comes from their Amad’s second marriage to a musician.

“I don’t want to be your spy.” Ori corrects her language despite frowning, “I know her relationship to Azog is creepy, but then again she tolerates my presence, she gives me time to explain how dwarrow are just suspicious folk to Outsider, and she understands I can’t promise her friendship without my family and friends acceptance. And if I befriend her for your benefit, I’d rather talk no more to her.”

“But if it’s to save her?” Thorin asks and Ori frowns even more because of the low voice, how it easily creeps into her heart and messing around with her feeling. Mahal, please save her from this erratic beat, why again she has to fancy such grumpy dwarf? Other dwarrowdam she knows mostly crazed over Prince Frerin and his beautiful complexion of fair hair and sapphire blue eyes.

“I still won’t do that.” She answers firmly, while throwing glare at Gandalf. Is this blasted wizard brings Thorin to her, knowing she’ll probably agree to anything if it’s for the Prince?

“Then what if it’s an order of your Prince?” there’s dread in Ori when she sees the Prince’s gaze gets darkened and her family immediately interferes before Ori says something stupid. While excuses threads in the air, from Dori who says, _‘can she think about it?’_ and gruff voice from Dwalin, _‘She’s just a kid, spare her, Thorin’_ Ori has her gaze fixed on the Prince while her mind swirled with probabilities.

 

“Still no.” she answers firmly, enough to set Dori into panic, though she is sure Nori is snickering proudly because then she hears smacking sound and his brother’s low growl of, _‘why are you hitting me, Dori?! I do nothing!’_

Ori smiles. Weird, when she shall be afraid to see how Thorin’s expression turns hard and unreadable, she currently feels content and at ease. This is so out of her character who usually is very careful and observant through everything. Maybe she is influenced a bit by Bilbo’s cheerful and carefree nature. She just spends an hour with Bilbo in library but talking to the hobbit fills her with decades-worth of comfort.

Ori is a bit understood now why Azog captivated with Bilbo so much, though she doesn’t understand the otherwise. Ori meets Mr.Baggins once, when she passes the workshop and the said hobbit is having morning pipe. She thinks Master Baggins is quite attractive for hobbit, and ain’t daughter usually fancy someone who looked –or the same kin- like their dad?

“Have you met her in person, Prince Thorin?” with the hectic background all around them, Ori suddenly speaks.

“Yes I have.” Thorin answers flatly but thoughtful. There’s almost fondness in the Prince’s gaze, if not clouded by sadness. Adult’s emotion is so complex, Ori thinks.

“Then why do you ask me this, if you truly think she’s worth saving, why don’t you just tell her the truth? I believe she’ll listen to your reason, instead scheming _this_ to only betray her trust in the end.” The deep blue eyes widens at her words and Ori is half wondering if she talks too much. She opens her mouth, ready to apology and pleads Thorin to just forget it, but then the Prince quirks a crooked smirk to her.

 

Ori is officially explodes into gem dust. Damn, his smile!

 

“Then what do you think if I tell her something like this…” Thorin chuckles at her, as if it won’t blind Ori with thousands spears made of silvery star, “ _’Miss Bilbo, you must stop going out with Azog because you are my One._ ’”

Well, that’s sure a shocking truth, it’s enough to turn everyone attention to Thorin while Ori hears a little crack inside her ribs. The commotion started to gather around her and Thorin, from Dwalin who roars in laughter and Dori who demands Thorin to give further explanation, to Balin who gets as pale as his hair, Ori blinks dazedly at the Prince, tries to process the shocking truth with blank mind till she gives up and glances at Gandalf, trying to confirm the truth.

 

Gandalf nods wisely.

 

_Mahal’s balls._ She’d rather thrown into Watcher’s Pond than mudding in a tragic love story.

 

*

Bilbo sneezes.

 

In this round-shaped chamber, Azog laughs.

 

“What?!” Bilbo shouts in offense, all in while wiping her nose with kerchief.

**“How weak.”** Azog approaches her who sits in front of fireplace, a tankard of ale in hand. Bilbo is sure Azog is still an underage for that but Orc custom is so different with hers so she can’t be certain. **“You can’t stand cold, you need clothes, and you’re allergic to hay.”** The Pale Orc stares at her fondly –which is very creepy for other being than her- before he sips on his beverage, **“I wonder how you can still survive with that body.”**

Bilbo seethes, **“You love this body anyway.”**

**“Of course.”** Azog calls his warg –as if slouching on makeshift carpet made of horse’s fur isn’t enough- the Orc uses his warg as pillow to lay his back. So comforting to see, if not a bit annoying. **“I prefer it dead, but I only have you.”** And he barks into cruel laugh when Bilbo snatches his cup and pours the content into fire, **“and you’re the right size for** cuddle – **I say it right this time.** ”

“Whatever.” Bilbo sighs, “I’m here because I miss you, anyway, so I’ll ignore whatever you say.”

Azog says nothing in return and only gives her concerned look.

 

**“Is it hard, without me?”**

 

“Not really, it’s just… there’s no you.” She lies, eyes fixed at the cracking fire while her mind wandering back to the last week where everything happens at all once. Azog’s coronation, her bearing as peacemaker, her meeting with Master Oakenshield –who later known as Prince Thorin of Erebor- and how Ori became nice for a day just to completely ignore her for the rest of the week. She wondered if she said something wrong or insulting to dwarf’s custom when they talked at the library. “I tried to befriend Ori,” she says softly, “but I think it won’t work.”

**“I told you, it’s unnecessary to be nice to them.”** Azog grumbled.

“You’re so selfish.” Bilbo takes a glance at the Pale Orc and smiles softly to see Azog grins in return, “Well, let’s forget it and just do our homework.” To her word Azog’s face fell into grim she giggled happily, “don’t give me that look. The Council insists you to learn about trade, and here I am dragged along because you don’t want to look miserable by yourself. Now, let’s check on this year’s demand of chocolate products.”

**“I hate you.”** Azog groans. **“if Master re-created you, I’ll request a lesser smart-ass hafling. You’re annoying.”**

“As always you’re just an overgrown baby, Azog. Now shut up and listen to my analysis…”

**“Why don’t you just do my homework? I’ll pay you with tons of chocolate.”**

“No, that’s bribing! What kind of King are you, thinking everything can be solved by payment?” she said it mockingly, but with a gentle gesture of leaning close to the grumpy Orc before she kissed him on the lipless mouth. “Come, now I transfer some of my energy, let’s working!”

Azog gives her thoughtful stare, almost say a piece of his mind when she shares clueless look in return, “What? You’re not thinking about silly excuses to skip your homework again, I hope. Lady Narina is a really menacing tutor, you know, I heard she’s a hundred worse than Yura, and here I thought Yura is the toughest she-orc around here.” it dims any spark of wonder in his gaze, turns him cold and composed again. She keeps searching any clue from his face but Azog only watches down at his parchments with disgust.

“Do you know how many factories owned by Moria Orcs?” It’s stung a bit, not knowing his concern, but Bilbo swallows any nosy question and focuses studying. Despite unwilling, Azog slowly cooperates with her till they fall into a comfortable discussion about the impact of raised price to the products. It ends with a little argument about Orc’s sensibility to fashion versus propriety. Azog is strongly doesn’t care with manners, especially Elven’s way to dress themselves while Bilbo is persistent that since he’s a King, he can at least wear trousers.

“I know you had weather-proof skin, but you RULE a KINGDOM, for the goodness sake!”

Azog scrunches his face, **“It’s a waste. Except to your touch, I can barely feel. I’m living dead, remember?”**

Damn it does set her face ablaze, skipped her heart beat for such honest exclamation. So that’s how it goes with him, no matter how many people shakes hand with him or becoming his sparring partners, he can only feel her touch? Is it possible? “then…” she clears her throat, “then why with me… if it’s about the bond… no, that’ll be absurd, right? you are BONDED to the entire of your people by Blood Pledge too.”

**“How am I supposed to know?!”** Azog growls, **“I’m only a creation, a servant to my Master. I only have limited freedom and to feel emotion is not one of them. But with you, I can feel everything and it’s really unsettling.”** If he is talking in better language, then Azog shall speak more of his feeling in softer tone, probably with gentle caresses here and there to warm up the atmosphere in between them. However, he can only give Bilbo snarls and spat of raging curses. It fills her with mixed emotion for a second, before she seeks the truth in his stormy gaze and finds herself grinning till her face hurt.

“Then can you feel this?” She stands and wraps his head into her embrace, letting his face presses right to her left chest.

 

**“Your breast?”**

 

“MY HEART BEAT, YOU PERVERT!” She yells in cracked voice, red hue already washes away the normal paleness of her facial skin. But then he brushes the sweet spot on her back, making her shudders in appreciation before she kisses the top of his bald head, “there is my heat, my scent, my blood stream… the entire of my body is ready to explode like summer’s fireworks, thanks to you. So feel me as you like and in return I’ll show you how to love.” she breathes out, and smiles contently because she hears him purrs in delight and she believes it as his beastly way to show his affection.

 

*

 


	8. Dreamscape

_Bilbo stands in front of a round door, hazel eyes cluelessly sweep around the green rolling hill. She remembers it as the empty land around Bag Hill, yet in her dream this place is alive. There are plenty of smials spread around the area, busy with morning routine and there are also hobbits of various age and genders, greeting neighbors, tending garden, or simply having a seat by the front yard to enjoy the beautiful weather. It's a mesmerizing fantasy that she probably stands in front of this strange door for hours –if dream has timeline- before she turns around and in flash the morning skips into night._

_Suddenly, it’s already the time for supper._

_Bilbo is presented with the view of beautiful arched dining hall, wood-crafted maybe by hobbit carpenter yet the long table is surrounded by dwarves, merry and rowdy in celebration as she once hears from Ori. Her mouth opens wide, ready to ask what’s going on, why there are dwarves having party in Hobbit’s hole. Then her gaze meets with Gandalf, and unlike others who mostly had their face in blur of unfamiliarity, the wizard is completely solid and aware. It makes her voice dies down and her body tenses in caution._

_Then she hears three firm knocks somewhere and in another blink the scene changes, she’s standing in a hall while a round door opened to a majestic figure with long black hair and a pair of deep blue eyes, hypnotizing her to stay in daze. Bilbo can only sense the familiarity. She doesn't remember who is this and why this person feels like an important piece in her life._

_‘So this is the hobbit…’ the stranger says, low and husky._

_Somehow, the voice touches her heart. It feels like touching a drop of snow with bare palm. It’s cold and eerie, yet when it melts into her skin, there’s electric warmth rushes beneath her skin and burns her with invisible flame. It’s not a beautiful experience, she’ll say. It’s the most terrifying moment in her life, yet the fire doesn’t stop, only grows big and bigger till she realizes it’s not coming from her, it’s from the wall of fire scorches the land around her._

_Where is this?_

_She’s on a dangerous cliff, with the same group of dwarves she hangs on a fallen tree while trapped by fire and the only way to escape is death. Unconsciously, her body decides to move and stand. Then she run through the heat for things she doesn’t know, but probably worth her action. She keeps running till she sees it, the back of a Pale Orc sitting on giant white warg. Bilbo almost breathes out her relief to meet familiar faces yet once again strange thing happens. The world around her turns into slow motion, just so she can see into each of Rider’s face behind Azog, acknowledges them as his mightiest guards though she is filled with dread to find murderous intent and mad thrill in their gaze. Why…? She doesn’t even have a moment to ask herself because in the next second time seems fasten and she almost cries to see Naeli grabs someone in between her teeth, before the beast yank the poor being at the stone slab like a rag doll._

_**‘Bring me his head.’** _

_It’s the same voice, it’s the voice who often teases her with his wicked definition of affection, it’s the same guttural voice that always gnawing her insides with longing each time she can only imagine his presence but not his real person. Now his voice is dropped with venomous hatred that she can’t stand not hearing the explanation of this ferocity and cruelty. Azog is a monster, but he’s not a murderer. He can’t be a murderer. She won’t allow it._

_So she runs again with intention to stop Commander Goro from executes the King’s order. But the world immediately turns blank and the next thing she knows, there’s a blood-stained sword in her grip and there’s Goro beneath her feet, black blood pooled around the Orc._

_She kills Goro._

_In shock, she backs away and looks up at Azog, desperation written all over her face. She wishes him to explain what’s wrong, but the time she finally gets a good look at him, Bilbo can’t help but breaking into tears._

_There shall be border between weird dream and nightmare, and though he’s still Azog, she never imagines the Pale Orc will grow up into a fierce beast, with icy blue eyes bleed in rage, lipless mouth snarls angrily, and what breaks her heart the most, Azog loses an arm. He loses the arm where there was their blood pledge, replaces by a scythe attached to the stump._

 

_What happens to us?_

 

Bilbo feels dark and distorted when she wakes up in the morning. The dream has no end, as it has no reasonable beginning and no further explanation. But these moments are the most remembered and hard to erase from her memory. She doesn’t want to forget the vision of Bag Hill, of what it may look years after or if his parents never leave Shire and instead managing their share of land. But then she won’t know the difference between Rivendell and Greenwood, she won’t meet dwarves in her lifetime and she won’t be able to fall in love with an Orc.

“Does dream have any meaning?” she asks her parents during breakfast. It such an uncommon question that her parents need a moment to stare at her in a bit shock. “I’m just curious.” She adds.

“Well.” Belladonna sips on _her_ tea, “It depends on the culture. From what I know, Elves and Dwarves often get vision from their Maker and some dreams can contain future events or so. But since we’re just gentle-hobbits, I think dream is only fantasy for us. It has no relation to the reality, aside being a nice tale for the curious fauntlings.” Bilbo must look so displeased to hear it since her mother curiously asks, “what’s wrong, my dear?”

She pouts, needing a moment between just telling everything about her dream or just the good part of it. “Do you think…” she ends her parents' anticipating gaze by a question, “Gandalf is still around? I have a few questions for him.”

“Wizards, huh?” Thinking about Gandalf always makes Bungo sighs helplessly, though she is sure it’s still in affectionate way. There’s love-hate friendship between Gandalf and his dad. It’s fun to watch their arguments every time the wizard comes over for tea or dinner. “They’re never _there_ when you need them the most.”

“But they’re never late for party.” Belladonna adds with mirthful giggle.

Bilbo smiles. The view of her parents in this oversized dwarven kitchen slowly brings back memory of Shire in Bilbo’s dream and she thinks it’s enough to cure the suffocating beat in her heart. She makes note-to-self to talk with Gandalf later anyway, and finishes her morning routine with lighter heart.

 

However, Gandalf disappears.

For a couple months, she’s still remembering the dream and patiently waits Gandalf to return, all in while occasionally checks on Azog’s arm despite the bratty orc laughs out loud when she shares the tale and marks her as ‘worry-wart’. She refuses to meet him for weeks, though the moment he shows up at her house, already forgotten what they’re quarreling about, she decides to forgive him by letting the strange dream fades from her conscious.

 

Meanwhile, Spring comes in greet, melting the snow in slow yet steady motion, exposes the dark soil to the weak sunlight and in no time, grasses and wildflowers began popping out between stones and pebbles around the rocky hill of East Gate. It’s wonderful to wake up in the early morning and walks out of the mountain to see the rising sun when the only people around are dozing gatekeepers.

Bilbo dips her feet against the soft ground, giggling at the simple yet exhilarating sensation. She walks around the hill where one of the gatekeepers, Master Bofur, still can see her because in this realm she’s counted as baby and needs to be watch over. She doesn’t complain though, it’s lucky they let her out, knowing that Hobbits need to breathe fresh air and feel the wind breeze on their feet hair. She climbs a stone slab and spares her gaze at the breathtaking scenery beneath her. She smiles coyly as she wonders what if she sneaks from Bofur and sprinting down the mountain path, all the way to Mirror Lake.

“Hiya, Little Miss!”

Before she can consider her plan, the said dwarf calls her merrily. She turns to find Bofur leisurely approaches her with this loop-sided smile plastered on his face. The first time she meets Bofur, the dwarf thinks she’s attacked by Azog and almost calling troops against young orc. Though Iguk immediately shows up from nowhere to explain about her relationship to Azog, it’s still embarrass Bilbo because Azog is so close to kiss her lips and she’s really anticipates it.

“Hello, Master Bofur.” Because of that incident, she’s a bit flustered around Bofur, yet the dark haired dwarf looks fine with her relationship to Azog and so she starts to feel comfy around him, “what’s wrong?”

“Someone waits you at the gate.” The dwarf says, all in while giving her a hand to help her going down from the slab and then accompanying her walk uphill, “so you’re really going _deep_ with with this Orc-lad.”

“Why? Is it him?” Bilbo can’t help but giggles shyly, “and we’re just friends.”

“Last time I saw, it doesn’t look that way.” Bofur laughs airily at blushing Bilbo, “kids nowadays.”

 

As they arrive at the gate, Bilbo sees Yura stands in the shadow, the foxy face looks even grumpy and vicious than usual. Bilbo hopes it's just because Yura isn't a morning person and not because Bilbo offends her somehow. She knows harshness is in Orc's blood, but except to Azog and Iguk she's still feel uncomfortable to be friendly at other Orcs. “Bilbo,” especially when Yura goes straight to the point by muttering grumpily,

 

“Master asks for your presence.”

 

*

 

In the common knowledge, orc doesn’t dream so when Azog sleeps, it’s just his body resting while his mind swarms in haze. Sometimes he’ll replay the memory of his meeting with Bilbo, tries to analyze every gesture they share to each other as love, not only from blind lust. It’s hard, because he knows only about physical pleasure and love becomes harder to achieve because the stubborn part of him wants to make Bilbo happy.

 _‘ **What do you know about Bilbo?’**_ once he requests the little dam, Ori, to visit Orc Club. She comes along with her guardians -maybe named Bari and Dolin, Azog doesn’t really care to remember. Anyway, he asks a few strange question which returns him strange look from his guests, though he remembers it clearly when little Ori says,

_‘I think Bilbo is simply wonderful to be able making you feel when you shan’t. Emotion is the most beautiful thing to experience and by understanding your every emotion, you’ll know how to love.’_

Azog gives Ori and her family a caravan of chocolates for giving him satisfying answer. He doesn’t know the chocolates are sold with very high price by Ori’s sneaky brother. If he knows, he’ll probably recruit that guy as potential business partner.

 

**“I am curious.”**

 

Azog spares a glance at the she-orc standing across his working desk. Lady Narina is another council member who is in charge of his study. She tutors him about trading system and the development in Orc technology and architecture. In appearance, she is decently short and stout, dark skinned she-orc. She loves snakes, whether to snack on the flesh, bathes in their venom, or to be dressed in its skin and using their bones as accessories.

Narina is also a very attractive she-orc. Azog, and probably half of Dol Guldur males’ population approve that. In each evening there’s always news on deaths by getting caught peeping into her chamber. That’s such a worthless death but Azog won’t complain cause it helps controlling population.

 **“Are you sure you’ll ignore the lust for years?”** Narina continues to ask, **“You have a harem.”**

Azog snarls. **“It’s not anyone business.”** He tries not to huff in annoyance, Bilbo always says he looks young when he express his dismay and he hates acting out as inexperienced warrior in front of other Orcs.

 **“Really? Can you stand that?”** the Lady persistently asks again.

 **“Why, you want to volunteer and relieve my sexual needs?”** He laughs coldly, all in while glaring at Narina’s stoic feature. He knows the fatal flaw can’t be denied forever but while in his society his resistance to desire is considered odd, he doesn’t want to be reckless around Bilbo. He remembers their first kiss, for the first time since he’s awakened, he doesn’t have control for his action and he hates it. He is alive to serve his Master but aside that Azog treasures his free-will.

 **“I’m the Head of your harem.”** Narina states as if she’s just telling him about the new chocolate product. It tickles him to give sarcastic retort but then again he remembers Bilbo once said he’s as cute as giant marshmallow every time he gets angry, that little-scum. **“Yura thinks that’ll drive other Orcs mad from jealousy, and it'll give her good show. But that’s out of topic. So, why are you insisting on holding? I don’t think Bilbo will against your wish.”**

**“Still not your business.”**

Narina titles her bald head, sending him pointy look. **“It’s mine too, Master assigns me to keep you sane and satisfied. If I can choose, I’d rather be the Head of Orc Club than being your sitter. I’m halfway to kill Iguk for that position.”**

Azog doesn’t know what to say anymore. He wishes Bilbo is here to answer for him because even by gathering knowledge about humanity and feelings he still finds it hard to understand females. He only looks away, gaze thrown at the stone arc opening to balcony while thinking about his hobbit friend, hopefully by his ignorance Narina will stop fussing about his life and leaves.

 **“What do you know about feelings?”** surprisingly, after he’s drowned in a long silence, Azog is the one who speak out loud.

 **“I remember.”** Her answer turns him into daze, **“ _Remembrance_ is my fatal flaw so I remember everything when I awake. I know who I am in the past, but I don’t feel anything from that, it’s only like an unwritten tale of how I go through my live and how I dead.”** When he watches her face, there’s a small smile cracking her cold façade, **“I wish to stop remembering, because I used to love an elf-scum and I don’t like it to see him now he recognized me only as monster.”**

 **“Do you need my sympathy?”** Azog growls softly, slowly understand what the she-orc means by asking him such troublesome question. Time, while it’s not a problem for Orcs, it’s still a bother when one is decided to bound with mortal. And since Orcs are norm-less, of course it raises curiosity as to why Azog doesn’t just follow his feral instinct. Instead he starts to act like a real person, and that’s really intriguing for others who watch.

 **“No.”** Narina grumbles lowly, **“But I think you shouldn’t wait for years. Just screw her now.”**

Azog sighs, his jaw hardens as he’s almost groaning out his displease of ‘not this again.’ Damn it.

 

*

 


	9. Perfect Two

.

Steps make echoes through the arched hallway, monumentally tall and menacing through Bilbo’s dimmed lantern. Orcs are nocturnal and so no one really cares to light up the fortress, after all orcs have different standard of comfort than other races. She thinks about it while watching Yura, the she-orc leads the way wrapped only in black leather lingerie covered only so little of dark skin. Bilbo even cringes warily each time she catches the sight of Yura’s ankle boots, with metal soles shaped in long and sharp heels, all in while wondering if Yura also uses them as weapon.

Bilbo shudders a bit. Morning in Dol Guldur is an eerie moment, no one is actually around and the only sound is coming from theirs. It’s also cold and gloomy, especially when Bilbo has to wear Orc dress and footwear when she’s visiting. Once she pleads Yura to spare her from using thick-soled boots because hobbits don’t wear shoes. Yet the lady states that in Orc custom barefooted person is considered as prisoner or slave and the Council don’t want the Mithril looks less than she deserves. Bilbo suspects the council ladies only loves to play dress up on her. However, she decides not to argue more and let them do as they please so here she is, wearing strapless red lace dress –tailored by the infamous designer Shelob- a pair of socks and flats. She’s still uncomfortable with the too short skirt and the containment around her hobbit feet but at least they’re not forcing her into strapped boots anymore. It’s a progress.

 

**“Master, she’s here.”**

 

Bilbo startles. She’s so drown in her own thought that she doesn’t realize they already enters the Royal Quarter where there are Sauron’s Tower, King’s mansion, and the chambers of council members. Standing by the open door of Sauron’s study, Bilbo’s attention immediately fixes at dead body on stone altar. “Who is this?” she asks, skips the pleasantries because orcs doesn’t value small talks.

 **“Just a nameless body.”** Sauron explains with the pride in _his_ tone, all in while brushing the shadow of _his_ palm against the pale chest. Bilbo herself approaches the altar, curiosity is written all over her face. She remembers how Sauron once tells her about Orc hierarchy. Low-rank orcs born from the ‘womb-hole’ in the wall of mountain while the high-rank orcs such as Commanders and Council Members awaken in the marsh, where they still connected with their knowledge from the past life though they has no memory of who they are. Except Narina, but no one really knows that. **“This is one of my precious specimens.”** The former Dark Lord whispers huskily, all in while pointing the details, **“it’s the size of Numenorean Warrior, the spawn of Elendil, though I don’t remember if they’re closely related.”** Bilbo watches in daze as Sauron goes on and on about the War of Last Alliance, when Isildur cuts the ring out of _his_ fingers. It’s a wonder _he_ doesn’t die. Apparently there’s still dark magic left in _him_ and _he_ chooses to surrender to survive. She recalls about the tale in history class and so she only listens vaguely while her gaze turns to observe the dead again. The body is heavily wounded, from the open gash in the head showing the cracked skull and bloodless brain. It also has one eye turns white and sliced upper lip. It must be hurt so much, to be tortured like that.

 **“He’s here for my newest experiment.”** Sauron says in the end, the faceless figure stares intently at Bilbo, **“and I think you’ll be interested to participate.”**

Suddenly, Bilbo’s blood runs cold. “E-Experiment?” she asks lowly, back tenses as if she’s ready to bolt out of the room any second. “W-what kind of experiment? And more importantly,” she clears her throat because she can’t just stay silent and asks, “what if I don’t want to participate?”

 **“Then you can leave. This is not a quest. You won’t get kicked out school if you refuse it or worse, get exiled from Moria, though you may want to hear my proposition first, before you decide.”** Such dark being blessed with the power of persuasion, Bilbo shudders again when thinking this, she promises to herself to only listen and not accepting any offer from Sauron.

 

“I…”

 

Just then, the double door pushed open with loud crash. Bilbo yelped at such force, almost fainted on her feet if not for the sight of grumpy Azog enters the room, eyes red from lack of rest and the nostril flared from the burst of rage. Instantly, the hammering fear in Bilbo changes into sweet nervousness. Maybe it’s just her exaggerating imagination, because she can’t see Azog all the time, so it feels like he gets composed and matured by bit during each gap of their meeting. And that’s very unfair to her, because she needs years to grow into an adult.

 **“Why are you here?”** Azog growls at her, yet sensing that she can do nothing aside gawking, the King turns to glare at Master, **“why she’s here?”** Azog asks harshly, icy blue eyes glances down at the dead body before they’re pierced at Master again, “ **I agreed to be paired with Narina.** ”

There’s a sudden jolt of uneasiness in Bilbo’s heart.

 **“I have second thought.** ” Sauron answers calmly, **“besides, I think Bilbo would like to join in.”** There’s something in Sauron’s confidence and how Azog reacts by angry snarl makes Bilbo’s heart clenched with anxiety. What’s going on?

 **“She’s not an orc.”** Azog deadpans.

 **“She pledges her loyalty to you. It’s not a problem.”** Sauron walks at Bilbo’s direction and half of her wants to run and hides behind her friend. But that’ll be no use, right? Azog will always obey Sauron and he won’t go against his master. " **Don't be scared, this experiment will cause no harm to you. It's just, lately Azog has tendency to be dramatic.”** To tell the truth even Bilbo feels a bit dramatic right now, with the endless suspicion and bad expectations swirl inside her mind. She nods stiffly and says nothing, so Sauron continues with, **“I’m in the middle of researching about blood-pledge when I heard about the strange connection in between your bond with Azog. I wonder if blood can bind someone into eternal loyalty. All these times, what ties my creations to me is the Morgoth Essence, since I’m a shadow and I don’t have blood. Now I want to test this out. With Azog and your blood, I want to bind this dead warrior and see if I can turn him into your loyal servant.”**

Bilbo gapes in daze. Truly, it seems so surreal. The first time she’s getting lesson about Necromancy Bilbo feels like her brain explodes into pieces. Now Sauron thinks it’s a good idea to create an orc-servant for Azog and her. Besides, what use a servant for her? She’s just a gentle-hobbit with simple life.

“Wow, that’s…” she seeks Azog and frowns to find Azog stares back intently. Although it’s hard to decide whether he agrees or disagrees to whatever choice she’ll made. “Ain’t that’s too much. I understand if it’s Azog, but me? I… thank you for your concern but I’m just a hobbit I don’t need…”

 **“You’re the Peacemaker.”** Sauron cuts her lowly, turns her frown deeper, **“You’re allied to the greatest Orc nation, the merger between Gundabad Clan and Moria Orcs, all the way to East where Mordor Colony answer to the King’s command. You are not just a hobbit.”** Later, when her mind isn’t so dizzy anymore and her heart beat is calmed, Bilbo mocks herself for easily getting influenced by Sauron’s persuasion. But now she’s blinded from any logic, she lets Saurons put more crazy ideas into his speech, **“it’ll be simple test. I just need a mix of your blood and Azog’s. A few drops is fine.”**

 

Cold hits her in the gut when the dark shadow of Sauron’s finger touches her scarred palm, **“You won’t mind, are you?”**

 

As if she’s in trance, Bilbo shakes her head. Sauron leads her to stand by the head of dead before she feels Azog’s warmth surrounds her back. The orc stands behind her, silently runs his finger on her left arm, brushing down her bare skin till his palm found her chilling one. Gently, the pale orc cuts her scars before he slashes his own. When their blood mingles and their flesh met, Bilbo breathes softly. The desire makes appearance and she leans her body against Azog’s, closing her eyes and clenches her jaw to keep her from losing control. She can feel Azog’s free hand snakes around her ribs, and Azog’s mouth grumbling out her name.

As soon as the mixed blood met with the dead man’s skin, Azog let her go to clean her wound, and licks his own. However, during the heated second a silent promise is made in between them. With no more words Azog drags Bilbo to the exit, not even acknowledge the curious glance from Sauron, only stops when the former dark lord calls for Bilbo. **“You shall name him.”**

 

“Excuse me?” Bilbo startles and asks with dumbfounded face.

 **“He’ll be your son.”** If there’s a face inside Sauron’s hood, there must be sinister smile plastered on it, **“and the Crown Prince of Orc Kingdom.”**

All haze and lust cleared from Bilbo’s mind, as she drops into unconsciousness.

 

*

 

“So you plan to have a SON with Narina?”

Azog shall dispose this halfling back to her parents before she sobers up but no, he prefers to lie next to her sleeping form, mindlessly watch her despite he needs his own rest.

 **“Experimental creature.”** He grumbles, suddenly gets annoyed at her. **“That scum ain’t my son.”**

“But he’ll be.” Somehow Bilbo gets flustered when she says it aloud. Azog hopes it’s because she finally realizes the dead will also be her son too, and not because she expects to have new orc friend -specially made for her to boss around freely. “See here, I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m just curious. Why you against it to have me as partner? Coz I’m not dead enough? Or is it because I’m mortal?”

Azog treasures her and doesn’t want to give her false hope. That’s all.

Yet he says, **“It’s a test subject. It can fail.”**

“Yeah, but if it works, you’ll have a son with Narina.” Bilbo retorts in sarcasm.

 Azog can’t stand it anymore. He growls under his breath, unable to find the right word to spat at Bilbo, without actually hurting her. It’s so frustrating when emotion creeps into his cold heart and fills him with craps such as humanity and affection. **“Then what about you?”** he finally asks a moment later, sharp gaze pierced on the small yet intriguing being, **“Are you happy to have a son with me?”** in better language, the question will come out sweet and cheesy, but in his native, it became a bitter accusation.

Bilbo seems understand the value of his question is not in the harsh tone, because the hobbit expression changes into red cheeks and joyous smile, “of course I’m happy. Don’t you?”

There’s no reason to not lie at Bilbo, especially about this ‘feelings’ that cursed him ever since he bonded to her through their pledge. **“No, I’m not happy. I want you for myself, forever. Why would I share?”** though his dejection is also half true, it’s enough to cover the jittering excitement in his stomach -to think they have more reason to stick together now.

“Hhh, you’re so selfish, Azog.” Bilbo sighs in defeat. She leans to his chest and runs her palm on his skin, sending ticklish heat radiating from his heart, contaminated the area around till he can feel his entire body shudders in bliss. “But I still love you, anyway.” She whispers, “I’m sorry for interrupting your rest.”

 

**“Then stay.”**

Bilbo looks up and gives him funny look, “and sleep all day? No! I’m hungry and Mum cooks for luncheon. By the way, you’re invited to dinner, whenever you can, because dad is gifted a fat lamb from Regent Fundin and he needs to slaughter it before he grows fond of it. Personally I think Puffy is quite adorable, ups, don’t tell dad I give it name already…”  

Azog can’t really help but groans loudly, **“By Morgoth, just fuck off.”**

“Hehehe…” Bilbo struggles to be in the same eye-level with him, before she leans down to kiss his grimacing mouth. He leans into it, inhaling her scent deeply through their closeness. When they part, her wet lips still hover near his mouth, her button nose brushes against his, and the rest of her body drapes on his bare form. It seems she wants to share more of her piece of mind, but she only continues to peck him, on the tip of his nose, on his jaw, on each corner of his mouth, trailing the scar on his cheekbones.

It feels like there’s a monster resides inside his body, killing him slowly by feasting on his limbs.

 

_So this is how it feels to be ‘loved’._

 

 **“Hmph.”** Azog chuckles darkly, **“ridiculous.”**

“Huh?” Bilbo snaps from the haze, “are you just calling me…”

 **“Ridiculous.”** His mouth twists into wide grin, **“Yes.”**

“Goodness…” Bilbo pouts as she removes herself from his body, “I give you my heart you waste it away. Farewell, orc-baby. I guess you’re too young for me after all.” Dramatically she jumps from his stone bed and heads to the double door.

 **“I want my lamb leg tonight.”** He hums, smiling to know she’ll be flustered with rage to his selfish request.

“I don’t want to slaughter Puffy for the likes of you! Good bye!”

Her steps become far and further, her scent slowly disappears, yet this glorious feeling keeps growing inside his ribs till breathing becomes a hard task. **_So ridiculous_** , he repeats in mock, how love is a nuisance, and emotions is not inserted through his re-creation process. If it’s up to him, Azog prefers not to feel but here he is, smiling to himself just for simple thing such as teasing the girl that captivated the entire of his attention and the only target of his wild fantasies.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story doesn't mean to be fluffy but well... thanks for reading!!


	10. Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drama, flashback, and I can't decide whether it'll be smauglock or some fusion between sherlock/mycroft  
> hope you enjoy reading!

 

What to tell, if all is well? Bilbo loves her simple life of going to school in every morning, tending her mushroom garden every two days, and spending her weekend with Azog, at this point she forgets her parents are nomad and her life is a collection of extraordinary journeys through Arda. That’s why it shocks her when his mother announces during supper that in less than three days the Baggins will leave Moria to visit their Took relatives in Shire.

Bilbo hates travelling. In fact, she truly wants to stay but she has no strong cause to, she knows using love as excuse will only bring laugh at her face. Even Azog thinks she’s ridiculous for pouting and scowling at her parent’s decision. In the end, she finally let out her frustration and hisses at the young orc.

“Why did you let me go? What if I fall in love with someone else? Won’t you get jealous?” she dares him, yet Azog only stares at her intensely while his lipless mouth twitches into a very attractive smirk. Damn, that’s unfair, distracting her like that!

Azog growls softly **, “If you already claim this** ‘love’ **is only for me, then why you’re scared it’ll fade through distance?”**

She hates it when Azog is right. “But what will you be without me?”

 **“I’ll be just fine.”** His touch on her cheek, brief and gentle, slowly clears Bilbo from the haze. She realizes she has an outburst in front of her parents and shame immediately burn her face as she mutters ‘I’m sorry’ under her breath. She even gets worse because her dad pats her head with affection and reassures her it’ll only be a short-time visit to their homeland.

“We’re not going to war, sweetheart. Cheer up.”

Bilbo sighs, “I’m fine. It’s just so sudden, I’m surprised.”

“Well, you know me, darling. Half of my life is filled with adventures, in which half of it is done spontaneously.” Belladonna adds proudly. “Besides, I miss your grandparents.”

“I miss them too.” Bilbo nods, and the topic changes into their past life living in Tuckborough, how they explains to clueless Azog about Took’s family tree and then Baggins’, how to celebrate birthdays/weddings in hobbit style, and the ancient roots of most hobbit families in Shire. Even though some of her parents’ explanation is also new for her, Bilbo still laughs merrily at Azog’s dumbstruck expression.

 

.

 

“I lied.” Bilbo says at the door, when it’s time for Azog to return to his kingly duty. Her voice is low and hoarse as she continues with, “I’m not going to be fine.”

The hazel eyes pierced at the icy blue orbs, the pouty pink lips frowned in displease, yet Azog says nothing and only watches her breaking the silent by a heavy gasp, “ahh, what will I be without you?”

There’s a flicker of emotion in his eyes, a bit of longing addresses to her as Azog answers her with soft grunt, **“I don’t know.”** Slowly, he leans down and pecks her hair, **“Just, don’t stay for me. You’ll regret it.”**

At that time she almost denies his words but thankfully Bilbo says nothing. All she did is mourning about her leave, and keeps mourning as her caravan takes off from Moria, leaving behind the most wonderful year in her life. She only starts to smile when they arrive at Rivendell, and finally return to her jolly self as she enters the border of Shire with her parents, the separation pain slowly turns into bittersweet memory. It’s hurt to think about him but it makes her smile in remembrance each time she shares her wicked love story. In no time, Bilbo becomes favorite storyteller for her younger cousins. Children follow her around, hungry for new tales of her adventures and she gladly provides them as she can.

During these days, Bilbo finally realizes Azog is right. She can’t stay if it’s for him, because, even without her knowing, Bilbo actually loves being nomad, she loves to meet new people and to know different custom in between nations. She hates travelling but she enjoys it the most when the journey reaches an end and a new adventure begins.

 

*

 

“She's arrived safely in Shire.”

 

Thorin glances at the voice by the door. There standing a tall figure in sleeveless red tunic. The face is long and frowning, the wavy black hair is short cropped and the flaming red eyes twitch in dark humor as the figure whispers in deep-baritone voice, “you’re welcome.”

“I don’t ask you to stalk her.” Thorin replies coldly, all in while returning to his book, “Why are you so interested with her, Smaug?”

The said dragon –in human form- enters the prince’s chamber leisurely, kicking piles of books which covers the most of space before Smaug finds a suitable place to sit, “Why you don’t, that what interest me. I know dwarves can ignore their calling, but to hear it from a kid who made promise to himself, he’ll treasure his One, no matter what happen…”

Thorin grunts, “that’s hundred year ago. Forget it.” He sighs, “And she’s too young for me!”

“Age doesn’t matter.” Smaug chuckles, it sends chill through Thorin’s back spine, because from their magical bond, he can also hear such malicious cackle inside his mind. “It’s in her race. You must wonder why fate bounds her as your One.” The dragon grins wickedly, “my advice, you better claim her before the Defiler does. He leaves mark on her, but they’re not yet-… oh, don’t give me that look, dwarf.”

“You’re disgusting slug.” Thorin throws his book at the chuckling bastard, “do you think I’ll low myself, just because my heart throbs in her presence and my soul craves her attention?” Thorin remembers it clearly why Erebor is still standing, why he becomes Dragon-friend and the meaning of inking on his body...

.

_Thorin is sure Durin’s Line is cursed._

_It’s all started during the reign of Durin’s IV, back when they’re still living in Khazad-dum. There’s no detail at what really happened, but the legend says the dwarves dig too deep that from the darkest pit of Moria, there’s a demon from the past awakened and terrorized the entire kingdom, forced the dwarves to flee from their home, scattered to find refugees in nearby clans or finding a vacant mountain to start it over again._

_That’s how Durin’s Line continues to rule from Grey Mountain, and for a few generations they’re prosperous again, until they’re attacked by a Firedrake from North, claims their mountain and their silver and steel as the part of its hoard, perishes the current King and sends away what is left, including Thorin’s grandfather, Thror who is still a dwarfling yet stuck with responsibility in leading his people to safe haven. He then separates with his brother who heads to their relative in Iron Hills and braces himself to tame the Lonely Mountain._

_Thror hard work pays well, ever since his small group finds the trace of gold on the mountain’s stone and draws miners to work under him. Erebor turns from small community into a city, from a city expanded into a kingdom and within a hundred year, it becomes the Mightiest Dwarven Kingdom in Middle Earth._

_Of course, the Line of Durin is still cursed, now with the discovery of Arkenstone, the Heart of Mountain. It is the most beautiful jewel in Arda, shaped and settles on the King’s throne as the symbol of beauty and wealth of their Clan. It draws visitors, some with admiration and pride, some other express their jealousy within low grumble and conspiring rumors._

_Thorin is 24 when he’s old enough to understand something wrong is happened in Erebor. He witnesses Thror slowly gets succumbed into madness. He tries to warn his father and the Council but it takes another year to make them believe him –when Thror starts to make a hoard in treasury room and practically lives in it- then another year for Erebor’s council to decide Elves had not involved in this –because everyone hates Elves and so when something bad happen, Elves will take the blame first._

_So when Tharkun comes to aid in the next three years, the wizard may also say it’s too late. Thror is mad beyond any reasoning and the only help is by getting rid the gold from Erebor. Thrain desperately wants too, but Thror still a King and to go against the King’s will means a treason and the Prince can’t risk banishment to him and the rest of his family._

_So Tharkun left them with another warning, ‘within the madness, dark time will come.’ And it frightens Thorin so much that he starts digging the history of his Line and tries to find any way to avoid another peril to his people. He seeks the knowledge about demon and dragon for years up until one day, the warning horn from Dale startles him._

_There’s dragon coming to the mountain._

_“Mahal, not again!” Thorin grits his teeth. Instead running to safety he runs to the Gallery of Kings, where he yanks the Mithril shirt from its display and wears it on his way to the battlement. “No No No No, Hey!” He shouts, just as the dragon passes by to sweep its fire through the scattering guards on Dale’s watch tower, “HEY OVER HERE!”_

_“Thorin, what are you doing?!” faintly he hears the sound of his cousin, Dain and Balin who hides behind a pillar. He grunts at them, gesturing them to go finding a safety before he waves and screams harder, “HEY! SMAUG!” He remembers its name from the history book, “O SMAUG THE TERRIBLE, GREAT FIREDRAKE FROM NORTH! I DEMAND YOU TO LOOK AT ME!”_

_Nope, it’s not working, so Thorin runs to the nearest catapult and barks a hasty order to a guard to send him flying at Smaug direction. Luckily the guard is in enough panic to do as the dwarfling want, and with determination Thorin aims to dragon’s neck. He hit Smaug with a loud thud, makes the dragon groans in surprise and yanks him down. Thorin, despite expecting a painful hit to dragon scale, still a bit teary from broken nose and bruised skull, but at least he gets Smaug attention now, though he’s falling on the debris of Dale’s tower, coughing._

_“What are you?” Smaug flees close and closer, until the dragon stands on the wall, flaming red eyes staring down at him with interest. Thorin wipes his bleeding nose with his palm and slowly moves his aching limbs to face the dragon._

_Instead answering to Smaug, he whispers breathily, “What…” he grits his teeth and growls softly to calm his heart beat and make his voice steady, “What’s the cause of your rage?” he asks, “We left Grey Mountain to you, along with the riches. What is the demand now?” He is tired to read about misery and exile in Durin’s Line history, he doesn’t want to face it now and will not going to let it happen for the future of his kin. “If it’s gold, you can have it all. Just leave us alone.” Unlike Thrain, Thorin doesn’t mind getting punished for negotiating with dragon. If he’ll get banishment from this then he’ll accept it, as long as everyone else still secure behind the wall of Erebor and doesn’t have to be dragged away from their life._

_“Hmm.” The dragon gives him this amused look, before something magical happens. Suddenly, Smaug is surrounded by scorching fire, until the dragon shifts into a form of a man with short black hair and amber eyes wearing a black battle suit made of steel and silver. “Interesting.” The shape-shifter mutters, smiling maniacally at now gaping Thorin._

_“You’re…”_

_“Still a dragon, yes.” Smaug approaches Thorin and stops a few steps before him, “I turn into this form because your courage and dedication to your people, worth my time to listen to your proposition.” Smaug says in his low, baritone voice, “so you think I’m here for the gold?”_

_“Isn’t that what you only desire?”_

_“True I won’t reject a hall full of gold as an offering, but there’s also something else I want that I can’t just bring it back to my hoard.” The dragon says huskily, sends a dreading chill across Thorin’s back. “I was planned to break into your mountain and takes over it, killing anyone on my way. But now you’re politely approach me, then I’ll respect you by offering a treaty.”_

_“A treaty?”_

_“I won’t kill your people and won’t touch a single coin of yours.” Smaug grins wickedly, “but in return, you’ll let me stay within your kingdom for as long as I want.”_

_Thorin gulps. Now that’s way too insane. He doesn’t know what is worse, getting driven out of mountain by dragon or having a dragon literally as neighbor. “I will discuss it with the Ki-…”_

_“I won’t take the word of a mad King.” Smaug cuts in and Thorin frowns again as the playfulness falters from the dragon expression, exchanged with a cloud of darkness. Thorin is so close to wet himself because by Mahal he’s too young for this! But he’s the one who thinks nothing aside saving his folks and breaking over the Durin’s curse. So he squares his shoulders and clenches his palm._

_“Fine, you can have my word, I will make sure you’ll be allowed to stay in our realm –in this form, I hope. Just don’t kill us. Or eat us. Or harassing us which end by eating us.” That’s if Thorin doesn’t get exiled first. Oh well, maybe if he has a dragon as back up nobody will dare kicking him out of the mountain._

_“Deal.” Smaug gives him a hand, and for a moment Thorin only stares at the palm in the mix of horror and hesitation. But the human-dragon growls in warning and he immediately shakes their agreement. Suddenly he yelps as a stinging heat waving through his palm and into his left face. He yanks the hand away just to touch a geometric brand on his left cheekbone, traces to the back of his ear and scarred him with a pact in ancient khuzdul through his left arm and end on the back of his palm, where the crest of Durin rests. When he stares at Smaug, the human-dragon also covered in tribal markings in the same side, burning in red before they dissipate into black signs._

_So this is the contract, a way to keep each party to fulfill their promise. He stares at the mark with astonishment, almost asks how it works or if there’s any poison to trigger death shall one of them decides to betray others, but then Smaug grabs his palm and throws him up into the air. “Whoa, what are you-…!”_

_“I’ll give you a lift.” The human-dragon jumps from the wall and in flash, turns into the real, menacing form again. Thorin eyes widens and his heart at loss over an incredible sight in front of him. In no time, he’s landed at the back of Smaug, staring at the blue sky in disbelief as the dragon flees him back to the front gate of the mountain. He raises a hand, staring at the Durin’s Mark on his palm, before a small smile crept on his face._

_He did it._

_He breaks the curse and saves his line from desolation._

_._

“Don’t be stupid.” Smaug’s voice startles Thorin, “You are old enough to do mischief. Go outside, ruin some maidens youth, get into bar brawl or tortures some prisoners. You’re currently very pathetic and grouchy even to dwarf standard. I think you’ll fit well as Ents instead.” There’s always stab of sarcasms in the dragon’s word, but over the years Thorin also learns to be deaf against the constant insult and derogatory, because he knows Smaug just a giant worry-wart.

“You should stop worrying about me.” He sighs again.

Smaug sneers coldly, “Tsk, if not for this disgusting bond, I’d rather burn you to ash but then you’ll die and that’ll be troublesome.” True, it’s so troublesome to find out their treaty pact also tied their soul together, so they are two people sharing one soul in which one can’t life as complete without others. Smaug will lose his dragon magic and immortality if Thorin dies, in the otherwise, without Smaug around Thorin will reborn as newborn dragon, losing his conscious and knowledge as human being. This is also the reason why Thranduil decides to make peace with Erebor, because Smaug won’t be a threat to Middle Earth anymore –except the ugly fact that Legolas finds the dragon attractive.

“I will do nothing, for now.” Thorin finally says helplessly, “but when she’s older, I’ll explain about the concept of ‘One’ to her, though I won’t influence her to love me in the same way.”

“Hmm, that’s unsatisfying.” Smaug hums, “but also fair to me, though I won’t stop watching over her, once in a while. She’s precious to you, she’ll be my precious too.”

Thorin harrumphs, “three’s a crowd, you bastard.”

Smaug cackles again, before the human-dragon takes his leave.

*


	11. Timeless

 

“Here we are!”

 

The perfect square arc of Dimriil Gate stands in grace, with the orange shade of dusk smears in the background. It’s a few miles ahead but already fills Bilbo with thrill of the journey’s end. “Mom, Dad, come on!” she looks back, encouraging her parents who leisurely walk while holding hands. They’re just spent weeks hiking the Misty Mountain after their escape from Minas Tirith. It’s a long story how they’re persuaded by blasted Gandalf to leave Shire in order to visit one of the greatest library in Middle Earth, but to make it short, the adventure doesn’t go well.

Just as she returns to admire the place that feels homier than her homeland, her attention distracted by the small troop of something rushing down at their direction, “uh-oh, I think we’re going to get welcomed… whoops!” out of nowhere, then, a giant fur jumps at her, burying Bilbo completely in a massive warm fur and wet licks, “Wait, is this Nue?” she yelps, and can’t help but giggles breathlessly at the anticipating bark from the said warg.

“How come Nue turns this big?” she greets her warg with gentle scratch behind its ear and Nue immediately rolls on its back. “Goodness.” Bilbo laughs, “You’re so HUGE!”

**“That’s what you’ve got in ten years absence.”**

 

Her heart throbbed at the voice.

Of course, it’s been ten years. Apparently she’s not the only one who counts it. She removes herself from the ground just as she sees her parents escorted each by mountain goats, the common ride for Moria Dwarves. She also sees Dwalin and Ori on their mount, the former nods slightly in greet while the latter gives her a radiant smile, before they rides along with her parents.

“It’s funny.” She fixes her gaze at Nue, still brushing the beast’s fur while laughing at herself, “I wouldn’t dream having Orcs and Dwarves as welcoming party.” she says this to the looming shadow of another beast with a giant Orc as its rider. What is she afraid of? She knows it’s Azog. She expects to see him, she dreams of how he looks, maybe with more marking and scars, maybe Azog ages a bit, like how she grows taller and her hair becomes long strand of golden wave, and she has better curve now she’s a REAL _woman_.

Urgh, why she feels even worse?

 **“You’re funnier.”** She flinches as Azog dismounts from Naeli and approaches her, **“Finally scared of me?”**

“No!” She makes a turn abrupt just to stand in daze. It’s not like she expects Azog magically grows hair or finally have some sense in proper clothing, but still, to find him looking the same as years back snaps her with ugly truth. He’ll be forever look like this, tall and broad and muscled, marked and scarred by his pledge to his Clan, and he’ll be forever pale like death despite he’s actually very warm and comforting for touch. “Damn it.” She skips everything and jumps at him, “if you don’t kiss me now, I won’t speak with you anymore.”

Azog growls softly, **“You really never change.”** But he does lift her up and then locks her lips into a heart-clenching deep kiss.

 

*

 

Ten damn years, that’s how long Azog has to contain his desire, just because a hobbit makes him feel and give him a great amount of GUILT each time he wants to grab anyone in sight and sink his cock deep in them. There’s even rumor around that Azog turns impotent and though it doesn’t give the same pleasure, torturing and killing his insolent subordinates pleases him a bit.

 

“Why her?”

Once in a while, Azog meets Ori in the Orc Club where they are served with chocolates and cakes while having small conversation about Bilbo, humanity, or both. The girl is often accompanied whether by her sly brother –Azog is sure the Nori guy is a sneaky goblin disguised as dwarf, so many trinkets are lost every time that scum is here- or Dwalin, which mostly stays alerted for any sign of harm. It’s quite amusing to watch how protective the bulky dwarf at Ori, well, except when there’s any seed cake in sight.

“You know, I’ve seen Lady Yura and I thought that’s the standard of beauty within your people.” Ori stares at him wide-eyed, back tensed and palms clenched nervously. But there’s always this spark of curiosity, a glint of _tolerance_ in the dam’s eyes that worth Azog’s attention and time. “See here, Dwarves thinks our beards and roundness are attractive point although men often use that as joke. But’s we’re not completely innocent too, we thinks men are idiots, elves are just creepy folk and orcs are savage beast.”

“So because I’m a beast, I shouldn’t be with a hobbit?” Azog grumbles in scratchy Westron, slightly annoyed because he has to do so.

“I don’t mean that. I’m just curious what do you feel for her because Thorin also…”

“Ori.” Dwalin deadpans.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to say that.” Ori smiles sheepishly though the fair orbs give Azog silent warning through lingering gaze. Oakenshield puts interest at his Bilbo, that’s for sure, and though he doesn’t know what for, he is relieved it won’t happen anytime soon, since Iguk enters the room with announcement that the Baggins is seen from the outer post and will arrive at the Gate by the evening.

Azog stands, ready to dismiss Ori and Dwalin so he can meet his long lost friend, yet Ori asks if she can join the welcoming troop, “I can get rid of her parents, so you two can talk.” she says with this loop-sided smile which is not as innocent as it looks, judging at how Dwalin growls softly at her.

Azog shrugs, “Do what you want,” he says gruffly and walks out of the club to separate way with the dwarves as he goes to get Naeli and Nue, intended to scare Bilbo with the young warg’s ridiculous size.   

 

_‘Why do you let her go?’_

 

_The following days after Bilbo’s gone, Ori had asked him that. Of course, Azog’s reason is very basic. He respects her freedom. He gives her time and distance to let her know he’s not a territorial bastard, he’s not as insanely possessive, and he gives himself a picture of a world without Bilbo in his side because no matter what, she won’t be around forever._

_‘Because I’m a monster.’ He answers in low, guttural snarl, ‘Pain is my pleasure.’_

 

Odd Orc, that he truly is.

Even now as he watches Bilbo sits in his chamber, feasting on dwarven delicacies especially made for her, he’s panic for her fate, because she’s coming back too soon and he’s not strong enough to protect her. He doesn’t want Master uses Bilbo against him again. He’s already so alarmed when Master tried to create a ‘son’ though the filth never once awakened till this very day and Azog is very thankful with that. He can’t really imagine what kind of Orc will be born from the body and what kind of fatal flaw it’ll bear.

“Don’t you think it’ll be scandalous?” Azog startles from his thought when Bilbo suddenly speaks, “My parents stays in the Halls of Durin while I’m here, spending the night in your chamber.”

Azog snickers, **“now if you want some scandals I don’t mind participating.”**

“Still a pervert.” Bilbo pouts cutely, “I mean, I should be with them, having dinner with Lord Fundin and his family, maybe donate a song or two though I guess dwarves won’t like Elven lullaby. Wait, do you want to hear?”

 **“Yeah.”** Azog closes his eyes, pretends to sleep.

“So rude!” Bilbo hisses and the pale orc barks into loud cackle to have Bilbo threw some berries at him.

 **“You’re so hyped up.”** Azog glances at her again, **“finish your meal, go wash and rest. Tomorrow there’ll be party at Moria.”** He stands from slouching on his warg and prepares to go. He’ll be hunting with his troop tonight because there’s council meeting in an hour and he doesn’t want to attend.

“Huh? What’s for?”

 **“I don’t know.”** Azog stares at his scythe with manic gaze and sinister smile, he wraps his palm around the grip, feeling its weight. **“Dwarf stuff. I’m just invited and you’ll be my girl.”**

The young Orc chuckles darkly to find Bilbo blushes in red, **“Now who’s a pervert?”**

“Shut up.” Bilbo approaches him, “can’t you stay? Is this hunting very important?”

 **“It is.”** Azog removes the scythe, instead hauls her to stand on the stone table and crowds her face with light kisses, **“do you want me to die in boredom at meeting?”**

Bilbo hums into every kiss, “Hmph, why don’t you tell everyone you’re busy groping me? In fact, how could you stay calm, while I’m here, feels like I’m about to jump out of my skin and just glued to you?! It’s damned ten years, Azog! You don’t want me anymore?”

Azog stares into her green orbs. He doesn’t bother to say anything and just grabs Bilbo by the waist and open his mouth, attacks her face with the licks of his dark tongue till she shudders in bliss, before he locks her lips into filthy kisses, let their saliva mixed. He grasps her in between his arms, presses her closer to his bare chest.

 

 **“Stupid question.”** Azog murmurs into her mouth, **“stupid hobbit.”** And he drowns his face in between her breasts, inhaling her scent which has salivating honey glazing her skin. Bilbo moans at his damp warmth lapping on her exposed skin. Azog groans in return at her sweetness on his tongue drives him insane. He leads her elsewhere, lays her on the heap of fur on his bed and watches Bilbo melts into his scent, blends into his territory, becoming one with his nest.

Azog bares his fangs, the pale blue eyes admiring the small being, his hands pulls her hobbit skirt high and higher while he lets her loosens her bodice to set free her breasts. Azog positions himself in between her legs and slowly, almost dramatically drapes on her petite form, kissing and teasing her all over again.

 

_‘I’m just curious what do you feel for her because Thorin also-…’_

 

Azog kisses Bilbo, reverberates his frustrating growl into it. Damn it, he is curious. He’s so curious with Ori’s word it turns him cold. He needs more information, more evidence Oakenshield wants his hobbit and what for? Is it lust? Love? Control?

“What is it?” Bilbo notices the hesitation, “what? You can’t get up?”

Azog barks a breathless laugh. He slowly removes himself from her and watches her adorable form in her mess. She is changed, beautifully changed with longer hair and defined face. Her lips fuller and pink, her freckled cheeks flustered in red and her exposed body is salivating to touch, to mark, to stain. **“Not tonight.”** He decides, sensually touches her where he knows she’ll squirm in bliss.

“Is there any difference between tonight, tomorrow or days ahead?” Bilbo grabs his palm in between whines, stopping his ministration, “or do you afraid to hurt me? Because you won’t. I had travel to Men’s world, I’ve seen… stuffs and…” she scowls in embarrassment, “I know it’s not going to be hurt, or scary.”

 **“Yea, it won’t.”** Azog caresses her face, before he leans in to give her one last peck, **“but let’s just rest tonight.”**

 **“I hate you.”** Bilbo spats in Dark Speech.

 **“That’ll work for me.”** Azog chuckles darkly, getting up from the bed and grabs his scythe, **“good night, Bilbo.”**

 

*

 


	12. Black Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it creepy if Orc has black seed? Just wondering...

What is not to his liking? She is a creature of dream, with her sun kissed skin, her freckled cheeks and wavy long hair. She is small but not fragile and she is fit inside his embrace. He loves her for every inch of joy and mischief she brings into his life. He loves her for turning him into this sappy bastard who thinks the world is nothing without her presence.

He wants her as lover, as mate, as comrade, as whatever people call it. He's so close, they're so close to form a deeper bond that last more than a moment.

However, it feels wrong. Within love, he grows conscious, he gains worry and he pities her. He fears what will happen to her if he marks her completely and the black seed of Morgoth touches her soul. Will she stay the same or will she deteriorate into a living dead? No matter what this thought bothers him.

Master calls it cowardice. He calls it mercy.

"What's wrong with you?"

Azog glances at Bilbo. Today she's wearing one of those Dwarven's gown especially made for her for the dwarf party, with her hair braided and decorated by colorful beads. What an annoying sight. He raises a hand but stops midair before he messes with her ornaments. Damn there's no need to bother with little details when he has urging matter at hands.

" **You look different."**

"Am I pretty, then?" She asks, hopeful.

It's not hard to admit her physical beauty, but it hurts his pride to praise her look in dwarf's clothes, so he decides to ignore the question, " **hmph, let's go.** "

Azog raises from his seat, yet Bilbo holds his arm in halt. Her mouth opens, her eyebrows scrunched but even as she gives him a wary glance no words escape her lips. She is conflicted for a moment before she sighs and runs her fingers down to be entwined with his bigger ones. Azog is curious of what stops Bilbo from scolding him this time yet he's also glad she is understand he can't share his concern.

"I know you're freaked out."

**_What?_ **

Azog glares at her. For fuck's sake, ORCS DON'T FREAKED OUT! He screams through his gaze. Bilbo returns him a sly smile and he realizes his face probably so stricken against her taunt. Damn this little scum.

" **What do you want?** "

She shrugs, act innocent, "You act strange but you won't tell. I took my liberty to guess why."

" **Yeah do that.** " Azog scoffs angrily. He feels so restless and useless for getting upset with her attitude. He's worried for her fate and in return she's making fun of him. Sometimes he wishes to never know her so he doesn't have to be her friend and becoming so vulnerable against emotion. But here they are, together, and the future ahead seems complicated and troublesome.

He traces her warmth inside his palm, soft and endearing. Shall he be selfish and keeps her around as trophy, uses her as Master wish? Shall he set her free, giving her a broken heart in order to save her soul?

"Don't be afraid."

He startles when the small fingers clenches around his, "I can hear your blood screaming, and your heart mourning because you had no idea what to do from now on."She mutters lowly, "I know you're worried about my safety since you're such a King and people could use me against you."

Azog sneers, " **Tch, guess again.** "

She smiles sweetly, "How it isn't in your mind?"

He buries intense gaze into her form, let the dark obsession radiates from him and swirled in between them. He can hear her heart marches wildly. He loves how she can be such impatient little scum. " **Because you're my strength. You're never less than that.** " His voice firm yet his _own_ heart flapped, as if they're blessed with stupid wings. It's because how his girl values his honesty better than anything.

And he thinks it's very intriguing when Bilbo blushes furiously, "Oh my. Don't make me cry. I don't want to go to a party with bloated face. People will talk." She laughed breathlessly while also whining in pain. It's so complicated to see how a person can be sad and happy in the same time. It does freaking him a bit, wondering if he has to bear such emotion without having his mind blown into bits.

" **Somebody** **wants** **you**." He decides to share the partial truth, a hint about Oakenshield's interest in his hobbit that slight make him jealous. " **They maybe at the party, maybe not. Maybe a dwarf, an elf, a scum for sure for desiring the Mithril of Moria."**

"Hmm, why would they want me?" She hums, "Is it to make you understand I'm so precious to you?"

Azog laughs, " **Nobody** **needs** **to** **remind** **me** **that**." He leans in and kisses her gently. " **Just** **an** **advice** , **be** **careful**."

"Of course I will. Thanks for the warning." She returns the favor with her mesmerizing giggle reverberates on his lips and to tell the truth it gives him relief.

 

 


	13. Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit: it's not Welcome Party but Durin's Day Celebration

 

The Halls of Durin consist of hundred tall columns decorated in geometric pattern, crafted from stalactites and stalagmites of the original cave during First Age. The veins of stone on each structure radiates in sapphire blue fire, so whether it’s night or day, the halls stand as the symbol of regal pride for Moria Dwarves. Those are the places where young dwarrow running around playing hide and seek, places for wanderer to gape and gawk at Dwarven’s monumental architecture, places for silly lovers sneaking kiss in the blind spot, and most importantly, to celebrate seasonal festival, including Durin’s Day Fest.

Tonight on the peak of Durin’s Day Festival there are special guests among Moria’s dwarves in the Great Hall of Khazad Dum. It’s in the heart of Moria, a round cave with ceiling so high it can’t be measured except with keen eyes. Sitting on the same table with Lord Fundin and his family, there are Elves delegacy from Rivendell, a couple Men from Rohan, blasted Wizards from Wise Council, and the Baggins who gains their place as _Wandering_ _Friend_. As a stretch of courtesy, the Defiler is also invited although the Orc King isn’t actually expected to attend. That’s why there’s no raw meat on the menu.

“So you can read portents, Master Oin? That’s amazing! I’ve read it in Great Archive of Gondor about people who sacrificed goat and see their liver to predict the future.” There’s the cheerful chirp from Belladonna Baggins.

“It’s nothing special, really.” Oin snorts. “In fact, I can show you how to do it. It’s more a scientific approach than magical reading. I believe a lass of your level will understand it shortly, unlike these barbaric folks.”

"Excuse me, who is  _barbaric?_ " Dori scrunched her face, definitely offended while Belladonna giggled sheepishly and Balin rubs the palm of his wife in reassurance. 

 

.

 

Thorin broods at his favorite pillar, holding a wine cup. Instead joining the merry feast or tearing the dance floor like Dwalin and the rest of young dwarrow, he drowns himself in warm beverage and grudging thought. He didn’t want to be here, for sure. Someone is stealing Arkenstone –again- and he's busy investigating the case, he needs to find the culprit before Smaug does because that old slug tends to get overreacted when it comes to the blasted stone. However, as soon as Smaug hears the news about Bilbo’s returns to Moria, the dragon just grabs him by his hood and then leaves him at Khazad-dum watch tower. It’s on a peak of Misty Mountain and Thorin spends two days slipping and slithering down icy cold stairs just to be Dwalin’s laughing stock for mooning over teenager. He doesn’t even moons over Bilbo! His calling is unrequited and he’s fine with it.

 

_[Stop denying. It’s been years and you miss her.]_

 

_Did you find the thief?_ Thorin asks the beast in his mind, changing the topic. For a moment his sight shifts and he can see through Smaug, the dragon has the sparkling stone on hold. Emotions burst, filling him in a mix of fascination and longing. It’s such a bitter lust and dark love to crave everything from such a simple thing. _You know, it’s just a stone._ He reminds his friend.

 

_[It’s just a hobbit.]_ The dragon retorts in mock. _[But without her, cyour soul is incomplete]_

 

Through Smaug’s eyes he sees a pool of blood on the floor. Thorin grunts under his breath. One idiot has to die because of their own greed against Smaug’s wrath. _Please clean the floor, that’s my study and I live there._

Smaug leaves his mind with a haughty snort, probably to make out with the blasted stone. As the emptiness creep back into his conscious, Thorin hands the empty cup to a passing waiter and decides to turn in early. There’s no need to stay here for longer, as he has no more reason than showing up his arse to respect the host. It’s not that he keeps staring at empty chair next to Belladonna, waiting for Bilbo’s attendance.

She’s with Azog, after all. Why wouldn’t she? It’s not the world where Thorin has to get everything in his life. He’s alive and breathing, his family saved from dragon attack, it’s fine if he doesn’t get the dream girl because he’s already too lucky for a dwarf from a cursed Line-

“Ahem,” his inner rant halts at the announcement from the herald,

 

“May I present you, King Azog the Defiler and the most cherished Peacemaker in the world, our Mithril of Moria.”

“Master Bofur, stop it!”

 

_Mahal balls._  His heart knows when he keeps lying to himself and can’t anymore. His slumped back straightened and his eyes focused at the entrance door where he is attacked by glowering gold and silver. His soul is singing in such embarrassing blissful tone to see how ten years shaped Bilbo into perfection.

Tonight, Bilbo wears green and silver dwarrowdam robe with colorful wooden beads woven into her golden strands. Her cheeks red from shame but it only turns her so pure in elegant beauty and it makes Thorin rudely dreaming of seeing her in Erebor, becoming his Queen.

She would perfectly fit, if only it’s not taboo for a king to marry someone who’s not a dwarrowdam.

Struck by harsh reality, Thorin lowers his gaze. He can feel the dragon heat radiates from his palm, a silent attempt to talk with him when he is too shut in, both heart and mind. He ignored the Hoarder and walks numbly from the glittering crowds, into the dimmed hallways. The image of Bilbo dances in his mind, every detail of her etched into his memory and making his heart ached. It’s impossible to describe her beauty into specific word. She looks like a smaller size of women, with Elvish glow around her, although it’s not as serene. She has determining gaze, almost as stubborn as dwarf and from Gandalf’s story about her shenanigan in Minas Tirith, Thorin is sure she’s also quite mischievous like any dark being.

_Such a wonderful girl._ Thorin huffed a defeated sigh when he stops at a secluded balcony and then sits on stone bench, his deep blue eyes staring longingly at the moon.

 

“I heard you had _interest_ with Mithril.”

 

He startles from haze, so shocked to find Azog’s accented growl comes from the open door. Cautiously he stands and faces the young Orc with dread, because it surprises him to see how Azog also changed. Not in the appearance, the boy is still a giant living dead with grim look. Only now the eyes stop looking at him with malice. There’s spark of light in it, as if he can see through the appearance and find a shadow of a _man_ inside.

It’s fascinatingly weird.

“Is it true?” the voice is guttural but the Orc’s stance is calm and composed, almost as if they’re discussing today’s weather, “You desire Bilbo?”

Thorin feels like choking his own blood, “Uh, not in THAT way.” he corrects the Defiler.

“But you don't deny your interest at her.” Azog grumbles lowly. “Why?”

How to say it? He never expects to explain the reason. He thinks the time Azog learns about his _problem_ there’ll be bloodbath and war before he could say a word. From what he’d been taught about Azog’s people, reasoning and pity isn’t in their custom. They’re dark being, they love to see the world crumble into pieces.

But now, Thorin realizes the Defiler is one of a kind. It’s already so strange, when he finds out how an Orc can fall in love, then he experiences it by his own eyes how love turns Azog civic, thoughtful and so _humane_.

Thorin frowns. He's forced into a situation to sit and talks his heart out without summoning his sword and shield. He decides this is quite awkward.

_[Should I come?]_ Then there’s this _asshole_ trying to make a meaningless apocalypse.

Thorin grunts mentally, pushing Smaug off the picture. He clears his throat and clenches his palms, “Bilbo Baggins is my One.” He begins in between clattering teeth because it’s hurt. It’s hurt to love someone that’s not meant for him. “A soulmate, to be simple. It’s impossible because dwarves only destined with their own kin. I don’t know what Maker has in store for us, all I got is broken heart because even in another circumstance where she’s not belong to you, I still can’t be with her.”

Thorin smiled sadly, “I am sorry, for causing such concern to you and her.”

 

*

 

“I am sorry, for causing such concern to you and her.”

 

**_Pitiful._ **

 

Yet _pitifully_ , Azog immediately spots Oakenshield amongst the crowds when he enters the hall with Bilbo. He’s easily introduced back to insecurity, attacking him like hurricane in his stomach, so strong and defiant that for a moment he becomes blind and deaf with everything else and abandons the red carpet to stride at the corner where the dwarf filth stands, probably checking out his lover, that _bastard_.

 “Hey, where are you going?” Bilbo grabs him by arm and Azog glared down at her so hard it may kill a light being, or at least eating out their disgustingly pure soul. But his girl isn’t such weakling, she glares fiercely in return all in while silently pleads him to behave, this complicated scum. He understands her reason, though. It’s unwise to have an orc wandering in dwarven’s house, hence unguarded.

**“I’m meeting a friend.”** He grumbled lowly, odd even to his own ears. It makes Bilbo glances at the direction of exit where Oakenshield is gone, replaced by a couple of giggling she-dwarves. Bilbo then eyes him skeptically, attempted to argue but Azog takes his leave with no more words. 

She'll understand. That's why she's so special.

He sniffs in the air before following the thread of dragon’s stench that mingles into Thorin’s smell, let Bilbo deals with explaining his absence to their damned host. He knows the invitation is just formality and if not for Bilbo, he’d rather die again than stepping his foot in this glamorous shit hole.

He almost has crazy idea of pissing in a drinking fountain, but his search is over so soon. Azog finds the Prince sitting in a terrace. For a moment he stops and observes the dwarf. He learns that dwarven magic is related to moon while elves more into sun and stars. Now the magic revealed before his eyes. Basked into the moon light, the dwarf is unaware with the burst of energy ridiculously emerged from _his_ back. It’s enormous. Terrifying. Even for a fearless orc like Azog, for a moment he only stands in shock to witness a dragon-shaped blue fire hugged the dwarf like an impenetrable shield.

Azog grits his teeth.

**_I'm a King._ **

A King doesn’t get chill on his back spine over some cheap magic trick. Time is ticking and he doesn’t have more to waste creeping in the shadow. He makes his presence known, enjoying the dumbfounded look on the dwarf filth face. It's thrilling, to get over his anxiety by putting Thorin into uncomfortable talk. Although in the end, his stupid heart also jolted in alerting pain when the dwarf revealing the truth.

 

Bilbo is Thorin’s One.

 

A soulmate.

 

Those are just words, just a statement. But it’s hurt to hear, hurt even more when it resonates in his mind. It puts him outside a barricaded paradise, while his left palm stuck on sword-like fence. It was intriguingly painful to feel like a rude trespasser in someone’s life. It sparks rage in him, because he believes Bilbo is his, Bilbo comes to him to be what she is now, a loyal friend and a precious lover. If not, then why their alliance bond creates desire? Why her love for him makes him feel? And most importantly, why she can stand him while other livings despise his kin?

.

“Then, what are you going to do to her?” He asks, after long he’s drown in pitiful self-arguments.

“Nothing.” Surprisingly another simple answer can easily drifts the insecurity from him. For now Azog let himself breathes freely again and watches Thorin’s expression as the man continues with a sigh, “Only if I’m allowed to pursue my feeling, then it’s merely to protect her with my life.”

**_Pitiful._** The words repeatedly mocked the dwarf through Azog’s gaze, while in the same time, Azog finds himself awestruck at such selfless statement. What a weird dwarf.

Yet this weirdo is also a Peacemaker and though he’s unwilling to admit it –even to himself- Azog starts to see Thorin with newfound respect.

“That’s with your permission, of course. I know you’re lovers and the last thing I want is people taking advantage of this situation to create war.” Thorin adds with a small smile. “I don’t expect you to do anything about it. At least I’m glad you’re listening to my story.”

Azog raises his chin, frowning. “Well,” he stretched his left hand, “if you’re going protect Bilbo at all cost, we might as well become ally.” He offers with a sadistic snarl to find Thorin’s face turns as white as the moon, “Here’s my blood pledge with her, you shall create a shield around it, to make sure your intention is only for Bilbo’s safety. You won’t do any harm to her and everything under her protection.”

Still in daze, Thorin whispers, “including Orcs?”

Azog purrs in evil delight, “Orcs, Goblins, Trolls, whoever she thinks has right to live.” He makes a diamond cut by connecting the edge of cross.

“Very well.” Thorin pulls out a dagger and cuts the back of his palm with the same shape, “then I will only speak for myself.” They shakes hand, red and black splashed in the middle and two sharp gazes meet in agreement, “The dragon, Erebor, and the rest of the world can be against me, and I’ll still be on her side.”

“Good.” Azog smirked. He stares at his palm and sees red diamond sealed around his black scar. There’s itchiness in his veins but it only happens for a second before the sensation is gone. He nods his farewell at still dazed Thorin, his tongue needs washing after speaking too much Westron.

 

*

 

"Bilbo Baggins is my One."

 

Like a mantra, the word opens the sealed gate in her mind. What lies inside is the forgotten dream, now flooding out as painful reminiscence. The smial on the Bag Hill, the unexpected journey of dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit, and the moment that hurt the most, a vision of fire and ice, with battle cries, blood stained swords and death everywhere.

She walks all the way here to find Azog and scolds him for being so selfish. 

Instead she's slumped on the floor, eyes staring at the world of white inside her dream, where Azog and Thorin had each their weapon stuck in other's body. In that moment, it feels like she's screaming with agony and running desperately to keep the death from happening. But they died, and all she can do is watching their blood flowing under the ice, becoming one with waterfall.

Bilbo shuts her eyes and hugs herself to snap out of the pain. _It's just dream. It's not real._ She repeats it, let it sinks deep in her conscious just so she doesn't have to be afraid the stupid dream will become her future.

She doesn't want a future where Azog loses an arm, Thorin succumbs into madness and she has to be the only one alive, forever broken heart.

 

"We might as well become ally."

Huh?

Bilbo startles at Azog's words. Slowly she walks at the opening, each steps radiates with hesitation. Shall she barge in and tells Azog it's a bad idea? But then she'll meet Thorin directly and she's not ready. In her dream, it's Bilbo who has longing in her gaze, devastatingly wants the Dwarf's Prince to _notice_ her. So no, she'll hide and observes what happens next. It's hard to see the entire process with Azog's broad frame covers Thorin's from her sight, but she can imagine they're making agreement with blood pledge.

Bilbo glances at her scar, almost distracted at her fail attempt to gain renewal for her bond with Azog, when a stinging burn hit her mark. She hisses under her breath, "what the..."  and her eyes become so wide to find there's diamond shaped scar formed around her pledge. It's not only hurt as hell, there's also smoke coming out of it, as if she's taking a hot emblem of ownership.

She touches the wound by a fingertip, and accidentally yelps in surprise at a vision of a red dragon grinning maniacally at her.

[ _Well hello, little one._ ]

Bilbo blinks. She stares at her palm again before she absently looks up and locks her gaze with Azog. "W-what... was that?"

 

*

 

" **What was _what_**?" Azog raises his non-existence brows, " **Did you eavesdrop?** " And when Bilbo tucks her head down while blushing furiously in shame, Azog leisurely approaches to tease her more. " **The party isn't to your liking, Mithril?"**

Bilbo pouts at the floor, "just shut up." She grumbled, and he enjoys it to watch her struggles with the outburst of emotions. "You won't understand. You'll only laugh at me."

" **Make up your mind, then."** Azog runs his fingers down her arm and then entwines his fingers with her smaller ones. He leads her back to party, surprisingly with clear head and light heart. The dumb insecurity stops bothering him, the doubt changes into determination. For now, he can stop worrying over Oakenshield's motive to Bilbo.

And _now_ he can give his lover what she truly wants.

 

" **We should mate tonight."**

"EEEH?!" 

 

Azog watches Bilbo in disbelief to sense excitement, joy, confusion, fear, fascination -everything- pop in her scent and to tell the truth he starts to get tired with humanity. It's too difficult to understand. " **What now?** " He huffed.

"Don't just say that in public place! Goodness, I think I got a heart attack!" She rubs the ache in her left chest. "Yesterday you want to wait and now you want it! I suggest before you tell me what to do, why don't you make up your own mind first!" There comes the rants that's annoying and endearing in the same time. It introduces Azog into a new stage of emotion. He feels _conflicted_ right now and he grimaces at the prospect of turning so emotionally wrecked like Bilbo.

Can he crawl back into bog? Being alive is so troublesome.

 

" **Not tonight, then?** " He asks lazily.

Bilbo screechs in frustration, she continues complaining to herself while leaving him behind. He watches such comely creature with amused smirk, before he catches up and grabs her wrist,

 

" **Hey**."

 

She glares viciously at him.

In return, Azog cups her face and whispers huskily,

 

" **Let's make love**."

 

*


End file.
